


Of Man and Magic

by Thedarkestcon



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt Stephen Strange, Hurt Tony Stark, IronStrange, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Kid Peter Parker, M/M, Magic-Users, POV Stephen Strange, Peter Parker & Tony Stark - Freeform, Peter Parker-centric, Peter is a Little Shit, Peter is the definition of humanity, Plenty of Angst Before the Comfort, Precious Peter Parker, Slow Burn, Sorcerers are bad, Stephen Strange Needs a Hug, Supreme Fam, Tony Angst, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Hates Magic, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark-centric, be like Peter, or are they
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2020-06-10 19:32:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19513492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thedarkestcon/pseuds/Thedarkestcon
Summary: Where they walked, the Sorcerers scourged the earth, leaving a trail of death in their path. There was only so much one could do against a higher being that had the power of the supernatural at their fingertips.But humanity stood firm and planted themselves in the eye of the storm, fighting back with strength of a thousand men. Then came the day when the first Sorcerer fell: Man realized that they had finally changed the tide of this war.Because under all the magic and power, under all the dark robes and flaming gold, Sorcerers were still failable- they were still human.And humans could be killed.—Born into a world where Sorcerers were the greatest threat to humanity and responsible for the death of his parents, Weapons Blacksmith Anthony Edward Stark had sworn to play his part in wiping out all of the magic-users from the face of the earth.But when he stumbled upon one in the very flesh, injured and trapped in a snare of his making, Tony realized that they were not the monsters his people had made them out to be after all.[ARC 2 Completed]





	1. First Encounter

**ARC ONE**

_“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.”_

_― H.P. Lovecraft_

* * *

The town of Genevra a mile behind, Tony Stark continued onwards, parallel to the edge of the gully as he broke through the treelines, eyes sharp and on the lookout. At his feet was a good 20 feet drop down into the steep gorge, where a body of fresh spring cracked from the face of the rock. It formed a gentle stream that ran through the narrow path as the opening several yards further eroded into a gaping valley that spanned miles forward towards the canyons beyond. 

When he was a little boy, the river churned violently, the current stronger and the water level at greater heights. During the wet season he would not dare come close to the body of water deep in the valley. But two decades later, the river had rapidly dried up, especially in the current dry season where the sun was a scorching blaze in the sky and the mudbanks flanking the river were bone-dry. Facing westwards, Tony sucked in a deep breath, taking in the temporary serenity and peace carried by the comforting breeze despite the humidity. It was beautiful. 

But dangerous all the same. 

With his back against the steep gully, Tony swung his satchel around his back and retrieved his notes and handwritten location markings. He had not gotten the chance to check his traps after the scuffle at the border almost three days ago and finally deemed it safe to travel around the woodland on the outskirts of the town in solitary. With all the noise in the forest this would probably be a vain attempt but in the event of a success, Tony had rather not let the animal die of dehydration before he got to it. 

This year, the dry season was especially unmerciful and last Tony had heard from the farmers the harvest was not doing well. Similarly, the wranglers had reported that livestock was dwindling. It was not terribly drastic that Genevra had to start rationing but it was bad enough for the people to feel the pinch.

As one of the best weapons blacksmith in town, though it not being his area of expertise, Tony felt obligated to pull his own weight around: there were only so much weapons one could forge and only so much battle armor one could upgrade. Thus, to assist the hunters and their wolfhounds, Tony had created a new set of experimental beast traps and scattered them around the edge of the forest. 

Past experience had taught them that they needed the prey alive in the trap rather than dead when found - The last time they had used the basic steel-clamp snare, the hares had ripped itself apart in its vain struggle to escape. Stags and wild boars easily broke through the brittle metal. Honestly Tony had not realized how absolutely useless the previous traps were. He was going to have words with his people later about effectiveness and efficiency. 

Contrary to popular belief and despite his profession, Tony really did not take delight in a slow and inhumane death for any living thing. No one deserved to slowly and painfully bleed out in the worst way possible. There really was nothing humane about trapping, food was food after all, but at least he could give them a quick and swift controlled end without any mangling.

Using a new method of pressure plates, a net and a complicated spring mechanic structure, the creation came to life. When the plate was struck, the pressure would release the heavy nylon netting under the trigger. As if the earth was going to swallow the prey, the contraption would rise from the ground below and consume the animal, pinning it down with the sheer size and weight of the net. Just like a dragonfly caught in a spider’s web. Tony decided to strengthen the nylon with chainmail just so the animal would not be able to struggle out. (Not that it probably would, the net alone was already about a hundred pounds. Some might call it overkill but hey it was just his first draft and he was a perfectionist. There would always be room for improvement later.) 

Frankly, it saved so much time and effort for retrieval. All they had to do to secure the animal was wrangle the four iron-reinforced ends together before hauling the fresh meat back to town. 

Tony had thought of bringing Peter along, after all his apprentice was the one that had helped designed the traps alongside himself and affectionately gave the name _The Iron Web_ to the creation. Peter had took it upon himself to bestold a name to all of Tony’s creations, much to the latter’s exasperation. Sometimes the blacksmith questioned why he picked the lithe, doe-eyed kid to pass his skills down to. But deep down Tony knew it was because Peter reminded him of his past young self. He hoped the light in the teen’s eyes never went out and the innocence of life never extinguished. 

However, Tony knew the boy was still inexperienced outside the safety of the townships. He was able to defend himself from foes but if there were to be rouge enemies around he would not have the strength to protect both the 15-year old and himself. He would know, his town had first-hand experience.

_Kill on sight. Or They’ll come back to kill you._

Anthony Edward Stark was born in the wake of fire and war with these words edged in his heart and ingrained into his memory. No one knew how they came to be but perhaps since the beginning of time, the Sorcerers made themselves known to the world. They were the epitome of abominations, a taint of the living and a disruption of the natural order. 

While Man wielded axes and had to build physical defenses, these _beings_ channeled their innate powers from fingertips and conjured golden shields of patterned mandalas through their palms. Where they walked, the Sorcerers scourged the earth and turned all they touched to dust and ash, leaving a trail of death in their path. Half of towns and villages were felled by the twist of their wrists and chantings of spells from the tongue. There was only so much one could do against a higher being that had the power of the supernatural at their fingertips. Fear raged as powerful as the battle surrounding the people.

But humanity had proved again and again that they were a stubborn bunch. Man had evolved to endure hardship- even against the impossibly bleak circumstance. They were not one to lie down and surrender so easily. 

The Chiefs their Trackers and tacticians of all towns banded together tirelessly and sieved through each defeat and battle with a fine-tooth comb, struggling to look for weaknesses; anything that might give them an edge. Their search was ultimately not in vain. After a rather long and arduous battle, Man came together to the same conclusion that there were two important factors that they had over those magical abominations: Endurance and unity. 

It turned out that a Sorcerer had a limited amount of magic they could use in their arsenal of tricks and they worked alone like lone wolves in a broken pack. They had no tactics, no strategy, no teamwork. Just a wild individual storm of madness. 

So Man stood firm and planted themselves in the eye of the storm, unwavered and in union and fought back with strength of a thousand men. 

Man started to forge stronger armor and weapons to hold up against the Sorcerers who were only clad in robes and rough hooded cloaks and goaded them to exhaust their magic supplies. Man targeted and crippled their hands where the sparks was channeled out. Man converged and picked their battles, taking each sorcerer down one at a time instead of going up against all of them as an entire entity. And then came the very day where the first Sorcerer fell: Man realized they had finally changed the tide of this war.

Because under all the magic and power, under all the dark robes and flaming gold, Sorcerers were still failable- they were still human. 

And humans could be killed. 

Failure dwindled. Defense morphed into attack. Man hunted the Sorcerers down like the abominations they were. Chased them away from their towns like animals.

Till one day they just all stopped coming altogether. 

Sorcerers became the bogeymen in the bedtime stories mothers told their children. The things that went bump in the night. The monsters in the dark to fear. They were rare nowadays, a couple of rouges here and a little confrontation there but never again did towns fall under their name. But the town of Genevra remained vigilant nevertheless. 

Tony recalled the Trackers marching back in high spirits days ago, Rogers sweeping the company as they emerged victorious. There were a couple of burns and bruises but nothing that was fatal. 

“Well we hopefully wouldn’t be seeing them again anytime soon.” Rogers had announced two days ago, quick to dismount his stallion as Tony came to greet them at the entrance wanting to see how his latest weapons farred in the skirmish. 

“Ahh you should have seen us Tones.” The taller blond added with one hand adjusting his silver-navy chestplate before throwing him a smirk. Tony remembered ducking his head, rolling his eyes at the nickname and tried to look everywhere but those baby blues. 

“Well do you want a congratulatory clap on the back for your good work Spangles?” He quipped back with apparent false adoration, refusing to add to Roger’s slowly growing ego. Albeit, it was not all fake. Steven Rogers was the town’s best warrior and Captain of the Trackers. With his adonis-sculpted body, that razor sharp jaw-line and those piercing sky-blue eyes, Tony was lying if he was not a little smittened by the excessive attention Rogers had been giving him recently. 

Rogers barked out a contagious laugh that unwittingly curled Tony’s lips into a smile before replying sweetly like a child that had been given candy before dinner.

“Mhm I would be blessed to have Genevra’s sturdiest hands to do the honors for me.” 

Blood rapidly rushed up the blacksmith’s face and Tony could not hide the red that suddenly dusted his cheeks at the innuendo. Ignoring the good-natured chuckles from the rest of the Trackers, Tony flipped them the bird before beating a hasty retreat. 

By Roger’s side in the company stood Clinton Barton. He was undoubtedly the best marksman in town with frightening hawk-like accuracy and a perpetual resting bitch-face. Said face had now tears running down from gwaffing at the antics between his captain and their blacksmith. Barton and him never really saw eye to eye at first. Their conversations often consisted of snark and loaded words of sarcasm. It was only recently where Tony had created new explosive arrows-tips and a lighter, sturdier bow for the marksman had Barton’s attitude towards him lightened. One was not that stupid to had beef with Genevra’s best weapons blacksmith who forged weapons that had the highest efficiency in battle. (He was just that good). 

Shadowing them both was SIC tactician Natasha Romanoff. A year ago, Tony had made a fatal error by second-guessing Romanoff’s ability to wield the weapons that he had forged for the men. In retrospect, Tony should have known better, she was no ordinary dame. Needless to say the weapons blacksmith had long learnt his very unforgettable lesson. Hopefully, with the amount of new armor and upgrades he had been providing her, he had successfully placated Romanoff from killing him in his sleep. 

Tony watched wistfully as Rogers grabbed his weapons satchel and unlatched a heater-shaped shield still in its sleeve from his horse, going from flirty to serious in a heartbeat as he began giving orders to his company to remain for a debrief. Apparently, there were a trio of lone low-powered Sorcerers sighted along the western side of the area within 3 miles of the town which spelt danger. 

Strangely, the magic-users did not attack when the company advanced. Within 15 minutes, they backed down and the Trackers chased them as far as the start of the canyons before turning back. This was the first time in a couple of months that Sorcerers had been seen. Rogers still have not decided if it was a tactical retreat for them in preparation for something bigger or a straight up folly on their part. But one would not look a gift horse in the mouth. When the time came, Genevra would be ready to defend.

For the longest time Tony had always wanted to be part of the company of Trackers. To patrol the borders and protect his town in battle. But after The Fire, his weakened immune system and health made him perceptible to fatigue, breathlessness and vertigo if overexerted. Rubbing his sternum unconsciously, the weapon’s blacksmith traced the lines of raised skin that encircled his chest just above his beating heart, inhaling sharply as the memory hit him faster than the air that entered scarred lungs. 

On his third birthday, a blaze of inferno decimated half of Genevra. Tony was found, chest riddled with shrapnel and covered in his parent’s blood. If smoke inhalation had not killed him, the puncture wounds inches from his heart would have. Tony should have died on that fateful day but somehow, by the will of a higher being, he pulled through. But never again could he run as fast as his peers or battle in long hours of combat like the warriors. Till this day, no one had discovered the responsible party. However, townsfolk have been pointing fingers at the Sorcerers. How else could a fire could burn for so long and so rapidly? Moreover, survivors had said that they felt a darkened sense of unease surrounding the town. Apparently, 26 years since Genevra had been infiltrated by either nature or mystic, it was said that the lingering feeling of _the supernatural_ never abated. 

If it was not for Yinsen, Tony’s mentor who pulled him up and raised him out of the flames, Tony would have probably taken his life before his age reached double digits. The elder blacksmith took it up to himself to be a father figure Tony so desperately needed. Yinsen taught him everything, from basic first aid to forging the strongest iron. It was then where Tony found his love for creation and the art of constructing. 

In time, when the smoke cleared and the dust settled, Genevra rebuilt itself back to its former glory. And so did Tony Stark.

“Don't waste it.” Yinsen had whispered forlornly years later on his deathbed, aged-cloudy eyes locked firmly onto his as Tony sat by his side tearfully and stayed till he took his last breath. 

“ _Don’t waste your life Stark.”_

So as Tony caught sight of the red, white and blue shield he had personally created out of a new concoction of metal alloy, though blemished with several scourge-marks and dotted with scratches but undoubtedly _whole_ and finally unbroken in Roger’s proud grasp; the man smiling softly as he headed towards the blacksmith to present the success of his newest edition, Tony knew that this was what his life was meant for. 

_If he couldn’t physically protect his town, he was damn well sure he was going to avenge it: For the fallen of the past and for the generations to come in the future._

Tony blinked out of his musings as he felt his boot scrap the edge of the valley halting him in his steps instinctively and rushing his mind back to the present. Right. His traps. Gazing down into the waters deep within the gorge, the blacksmith exhaled sharply. Damn that was close. He had got to stop pondering and walking around, one day it was going to get him killed. 

The sun was lowering sluggishly into the canyons of the west, drapping the air into a cooler bearable temperature. Tony estimated he had around an hour of sunlight left before it grew too dark to wander around. 

“Right. Let’s hurry it up now.” He announced under his breath, raising his handwritten location markings towards the light and studying them intently. There were three traps placed 20 yards between each other, all parallel to the treeline and the valley. He had to be careful, it would not do him and his health well if Tony accidentally triggered his own trap and was stuck under it for the entirety of the night. The blacksmith did not want to raise his expectations, after all these were just experimental snares. For all he knew they might not have worked at all. 

(A little part of him wanted to see Peter’s excited and adoring face when he brought back The Iron Web’s first catch though. That kid really worshiped the ground he stood on. He did not want to be that guy to tell him that he was failable like any other man.)

But as he walked on, his hopes were setting faster than the sun. The fist two traps were intact but unmistakably empty. Grumbling under his breath, Tony was sorely tempted to turn back and return to Genevra. He could feel the chill of dusk seeping into his chest and was starting to feel the pangs of hunger-

A glint of metal that flashed, reflected from the last dying strands of sunlight about six yards away caught the sharp eyes of the blacksmith. 

_Bullseye_. Tony smiled internally as he picked up the pace. There was a sizable lump under clumps of kicked up leaves directly at the spot of the third trap’s location. 

The last trap had definitely been sprung. 

Delight surged through his body, adrenaline warming himself momentarily. In the madness of the border skirmish some poor creature must have ran right into the trap. Just want he needed to end an unsatisfactory day. As they say, third time’s the charm!

But as Tony neared his snare, it dawned on the weapons blacksmith like a slap in the face that it _was not an animal that was caught._

His jaw dropped with an audible snap, good mood evaporating. Shaking fingers unconsciously slid to the dagger at his belt as Tony backed away with a sudden rush of realization and dread. 

_“_ Oh _fuck_ me. _”_

For lying just five feet away, motionless and entangled under the web of thick nylon ropes and heavy metal iron, was a _Sorcerer_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based lightly on _Pocahontas_ and _How To Train Your Dragon_ , I present to you _‘Of Man and Magic’_ Hope you guys will stay for the ride!


	2. Nightmare In The Flesh

_“He that has revenge in his power, and does not use it, is the greater man.”_

__―_ Wellins Calcott_

* * *

Tony did not have much concrete memories of his parents. One would think that it was unfortunate but Tony would rather he never remembered them at all. Because his only vivid recollection of his mother was her tear-stricken face as she clutched his tiny self to her bosom as the sweltering heat around them grew unbearable. It was of his father rushing in vain to beat the flames with desperation to protect his family. The only clear memory he had of them were of their deaths. 

On Tony’s chest hung the only reminder to the Starks. It was a circular silver talisman, shaped in an arc almost like a half-crescent moon. Slightly larger than a copper coin, it was covered with intricate carvings along the outer perimeter and criss-crossed with runes and a ragged outline of a pentagram. Nestled in the middle of the dull metal was a contrasting cerulean. In the darkest of night it would almost seem to glow an eerie wash of blue. Yinsen had told him that it had been his mother’s and that she must have decided to place it in his tight fist before their house went up in blaze of fire on that fateful day. This was the closest thing to a family heirloom he could compare it to. 

Tony had never taken it off ever since, the comfortable weight of the talisman resting among the scars. A memory of the fallen. 

So when the first thought that seized Tony’s mind at the sight of the ensnared Sorcerer was ‘ _Is It still alive?”_ The prospect of _concern_ for the goddamn enemy who slaughtered his people and ripped his life into shambles frightened him and shook Tony right to the core. 

Disgust rolled in waves and the hate he had for that- that _creature_ in the trap was tangible. There was no doubt what he had to do next. 

_Kill on sight._

Lying defenseless and unconscious, trapped under a hundred pounds of reinforced metal, nylon and iron, it should be a child’s play to thrust one of his daggers into the left of its chest and ending the Sorcerer’s life in an instant. 

Yet as Tony slid the serrated blade from its scabbard and knelt down crouching on the edge of the sturdy net, he could not seem to ignore the way his hands were trembling. A blacksmith’s hands was as steady as a rock and it was on that foundation where one’s creations could be forged. It protected lives. It defended lives. Today however, Tony’s hands felt like a newborn’s. The weapon in his hands weighing down on his palm like a ton of bricks. 

In spite of everything that had happened, Tony Stark had never taken another human life. Death and pain were familiar to him and he had been a witness to the casualty of both Man and Sorcerer alike. His weapons were always responsible and there was plenty of blood on his hand.

So why could Tony Stark not take this life, evidently unmatched to a human’s with his own two hands?

With a frustrated bitter cry, he tossed the dagger onto the earth and viciously glared at the motionless being which provided him no resolve. The Sorcerer was sprawled on its left side, its arm pinned under the weight of its body and the other draped on the forest floor. Its tell-tale navy robes were savagely ripped and shredded in places, exposing pale bruised flesh and thin lines of red. A long maroon length of cloth was wrapped around its shoulders and seemed to peak out from the web of the snare. All in all, it did not look like the terrifying monster Tony had grown to know and resent. It just looked like a hapless, injured animal trapped and waiting for the inevitable death.

Where was the honor in slaying a defenseless enemy? A wave of disgust suddenly consumed Tony. When did he start stooping so slow just to quench his thirst for revenge? He would be as good as the cold-blooded _malevolent_ _being_ in front of him.

But Sorcerers were the scum of the earth! They were supposed to be hated and abhorred with his entire heart. They could not be compared to the means of humanity.

 _How then would you know where his heart is?_ A soft voice stirred from the depths of his soul. 

And then Tony froze, all feeling leaving him as if a rug had been yanked out from under his feet. Under the long matted hair hiding its features and fleaks of dirty blond-grey strands at its bleeding temple, gleaming inhuman eyes peered warily and stared straight into Tony’s. It seemed to gaze right through his very soul, a myriad of emotions swirling in the exchange causing the blacksmith to take a step back. The trap shifted slightly and wordless gasp of pained surprise escaped the Sorcerer who was now very conscious and awake. Tony felt like he had been punched in the stomach because… 

It almost looked and sounded oh so… _Human._

As quickly as it happened, the Sorcerer closed his eyes once more, snapping Tony out of his daze long enough to see a warped sense of resignation and acceptance settling over his slack face before going limp once more. 

_Kill on sight._

Tony squeezed his eyes shut. His frenzied internal turmoil continued to rip through him mercilessly. The metal in his hand was growing foreign. But the gentle whisper of morality drowned under the fierce scream of avengeavenge _avenge._

_Kill on sight._

Tony plunged the dagger down with all the resolve of a broken man, bracing himself to tear deep into soft flesh and to feel the warmth of blood trickling through his fingers. 

But no crimson stained the earth with the death of a living soul as the release of metal echoed in the darkness and the rough coarse of torn nylon slipped away and-

“What th-mPHF”

 _Pain_. A streak of scarlet exploded across Tony’s cheek as _something_ whipped through the air and descended onto him. In a flash, it wrapped around his shoulders and smothered his face, sending him toppling forwards into the leaves and slamming into the forest floor. Grappling blindly, the blacksmith clawed and writhed at whatever was slowly suffocating him. 

It all happened too fast.

Tony struggled to orientate himself as his fingers dug desperately into a twitching thick material that almost felt like a cape of some sort. His mind whirled and adrenaline roared through his veins as he tried to recall all the self-defence classes he had gone through. 

Who was he kidding. 

Good lord, it was a Sorcerer. _He just fucking freed a Sorcerer_. And now it was slowly sucking the life out of him. What was he thinking! 

A low sharp baritone of command rumbled across the clearing and as fast as it attacked, the thing untangled itself from Tony’s neck and disappeared out of his spotted vision. Gasping and spluttering, Tony welcomed the fresh, fresh air that flowed into his battered body. Staggering back, trying to ignore the burning in his lungs, the blacksmith tried to put as much distance between himself and the enemy. But he froze as he raised his eyes to rest on the attacker. 

It was a scarlet… cloth? Oh. _Oh_. There was no one donning said material. 

It was fucking floating cape. 

Tony did a double take, eyes blown wide, jaw trembling agape. Disbelief knitted his brows and lines of utter confusion crossed his forehead. 

It was settled. He was officially losing his very mind. 

An audible gasp sounded somewhere on his left causing Tony to swing his head back. A sharp intake of breath escaped his lips and he felt the last shreds of sanity evaporate instantly. 

It was as if time itself had stopped, leaving Tony suspended in that very moment. 

Like a terrifying nightmare awakening, the knowing figure rose from the earth, eclipsing the sun and casting a shadow that engulfed him. 

The Sorcerer stood at full imposing height before the blacksmith in all his glory. The colors of the dying light illuminated the mystic and the hair-raising feeling of untamed magic clung to Tony’s clammy skin, freezing his thoughts and trapping all movement. Now standing he could see the Sorcerer clearly. The being was at least 4 inches taller and looked a hundred times more menacing especially when the magical floating cape came to rest on his shoulders and flared itself out like a bristling cat. 

Tony could do nothing but peer into the glowing inhuman eyes that seemed to yet again had him transfixed in fear. This time he could see that they were a mixture of the deep azure sky and the shade of green like a new leaf sprouting after winter. The epitome of calm in an obvious facade of death.

_Oh how the tables had turned._

With a flick of a wrist and a twist of fingers, bands of green wrapped around the Sorcerer’s arm and there was a surge of raw energy which made Tony’s heart beat twice as fast and caused him raise his hand unconsciously to shield his face. _This was it._ Tony decided squeezing his eyes shut in trepidation. He was going to die here miles from his town, alone and stricken in terror with a Sorcerer he freed. 

The irony of the entire goddamn situation tore a hysterical half-sob from him.

The hum of magic swirled the air around him and abruptly, the passage of existential came to a complete grinding halt. The winds were silent and the forest still. There was not even a whisper of the living. The pounding of his heart rang in his ears and Tony felt his chest burn strangely as he coiled himself into an even tighter ball; bracing for his imminent destruction and the pain that inevitably accompanied. 

But it seemed that fate yet again had other plans for Tony Stark.

An odd encompassing feeling of _safety_ flowed over him, a warm glow in his chest, and in a blink of an eye it seemed life had restarted again and suddenly everything was alive once more. 

Including him.

He was... not dead?

Thoroughly bewildered, Tony lifted his eyes meekly with all the strength of a new-born kitten. His mind in array, the blacksmith tried to figure out _how the fuck was he still alive_. Then he found his answer. Said executioner had stopped dead in his tracks and if it were possible was looking even more confused than Tony had ever been.

The Sorcerer’s face twisted into a mask of badly hidden dismay as his magic which was pointed at Tony flickered weakly and the glowing emerald mandalas dissolved into sparks of natural light. 

As the glint of magic bounced back onto the earth, Tony suddenly a surge of unexplainable courage considering the circumstances. Standing mere feet away Tony could finally get an unblemished view of the enemy again. There was clearly something wrong with the Sorcerer. His face had an unmistakable pasty tint to it and the sharp cheekbones seemingly distracted the fact that his cheeks were unhealthily sunken. Under his navy robes he might be concealing an injury of some sort if the mystic’s shuffling of his lanky body and favoring his left side was any indication. Heck even his magic was the wrong color. For a second, Tony felt a twinge of something pull at his heartstring. 

Well he had no time for that. Right now he had a chance to escape with his life and body intact. 

A badly formed idea was forming in the madness of the storm of emotions raging in his mind. He couldn’t fight a damn Sorcerer, that Tony knew. So that left him with few other options. 

In hindsight it was probably the dumbest move ever but then again Tony was always a ‘shoot first, think later’ guy. 

It was definitely what got him into this mess to start with. 

With a snarl of “Get the fuck away!” Tony reared up and kicked up a rain of dust and leaves and flung his satchel hearing the Sorcerer splutter in shock. Swiftly, he turned away and started sprinting eastwards back towards where he had been ten minutes before. It was a longshot but he had to try.

He had two more unsprung traps lying 15 yards away...

All hope left him like a gust of wind when the foreboding sound of magic pricked the air. Golden strands of energy started to conjure out of thin air three feet from him causing him to freeze in his tracks instinctively. 

“I cannot let you go just yet.” 

The low rumbling words, foreign yet known, reverberated behind the fleeing blacksmith. Without turning back he knew who the owner of the voice was. It chilled Tony down to his core felt his stomach drop. Looking up to see a completed buzzing patterned shield of flaming gold blocking his escape, Tony knew his time was almost up.

Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place. If he survived, he would have a bloody different perspective of that idiom. 

But this time, once before lying dormant, determination rose up and burned deep in his veins. Tony was not going to lay on his stomach and die like a dog as he was to become a casualty of the enemy, not when he had gotten so close. Not when he still had a chance. Now he felt why the rabbit tore itself to shreds in his trap, desperate attempt to escape. It wanted to live. Likewise, he had gotten a taste of freedom and was literally a grasp away from death. 

_What more did he have to lose?_

As a last means of desperate retaliation, Tony swerved away sharply from the magical blockade and hurdled his twin daggers he kept on his belt blindly through the air. He flinched in terror as the hollow seemingly sentient cape rushed towards him again deflecting one of it easily. But it halted in its path towards Tony as a frighteningly _human_ cry tore out and rang into the forest. 

It was almost unbelievable. 

One of his daggers hit home. The long serrated metal was buried to the hilt deep in the left thigh of the Sorcerer. 

The orange mandalas on the fists of the mystic dissipated together with the shield behind Tony in an explosion of sparks and the Sorcerer dropped onto one knee. Trembling fingers clutched at the ragged wound and pain oozing out of the enemy’s body in tangible waves. It seemed that the Sorcerer’s energy was all but sucked out of him and all that was left was a pale, bleeding broken shell. The ache in Tony’s chest returned. 

_Was that a feeling of sympathy for the enemy?_

For a moment, no one moved. Man looked at Sorcerer and history was made at that point with neither making any move to attack the other. If an outsider was spectating that very moment it would look like they were just two strangers at a stand-off. So painfully similar yet distinctly worlds apart. 

Then without warning, the mystic surged forward causing Tony to let out a shriek of terror. But it was not an act of aggression, if anything it was the opposite. The sentient cape splayed out, successfully shielding the Sorcerer this time and a shock of scarlet flocked the blacksmith’s vision. 

The last thing Tony saw when his eyes were finally unobscured was the Sorcerer breaking through the treeline and teetering on the edge of the cliff.

In the last light of the sun’s rays, Tony caught a flash of unreadable emotions flitting rapidly across the Sorcerer’s face as his inhuman eyes blazed and locked onto the blacksmith’s who stood suspended and shaken in awe. 

Tony had never before seen something so goddamn imposing and dangerously petrifying yet strangely feeble and broken with all the reflections of humanity.

Then the Sorcerer closed his eyes and _tipped himself forward._

A stricken scream tore itself from Tony throat that echoed down into the long shadows of the valley as he saw the man plunged down the side of the gorge, a flash of red spilling over the ledge, before vanishing in a into the depths of the void.

“Holy shit…” All sense of words left Tony in a rush and he scrambled urgently to his feet. The blacksmith peered over the edge, overwhelmed with confusion and a smudge of horror. Distantly, Tony thought he could faintly hear the splash of water and the crunch of dirt before it was all silent again. 

But there was no sight of the Sorcerer. He had literally dropped off the face of the earth and disappeared into thin air, leaving no trace but scuff marks on the ground and crimson in the dirt. 

If he had a moment to think in the whirlpool of madness that had happened, Tony would had thought Barton would have been proud of him at that lucky aim. Something deep in him wondered with all the power and magic why the enemy failed to reflect such a longshot. Why did he run? Was that _fear_ he saw in the Sorcerer’s eyes before he disappeared? But oh boy was this not the time to ponder as Tony picked himself up, backed his way slowly from the edge of the darkness and readied himself to get the _fuck out of there._

“I freed a Sorcerer.” Shaking his head, a hysterical bark of laughter left the blacksmith. Before he could timely grasp the situation, Tony collapsed onto his knees incredulously, his body numb to the coldness seeping into his bones and his mind struggling to comprehend. 

“He tried to kill me. I stabbed him and he jumped off a fucking cliff.” 

On autopilot, Tony picked himself up in a strange detached sort of way. Before he knew it, he was moving and breaking into a run, sprinting with all the strength a man could muster. The forest whisked by in a swirl of leaves and shadows. The earth dipped under his feet in the mad race to get to safety. Home.

His muscles screamed, lungs burned and heart pounded but Tony surged ahead and could not stop till he saw the familiar twinkling lights at the gates of Genevra just as the last entrails of the sun vanished into the horizon. 

Everything was hazy. Everything was in a daze. _Everything was going too fast._

The stars emerged, dotting the midnight sky and welcomed the glow of the crescent moon who peered through the clouds. The guards stood alert at the entrance, facing the western side and held steadfast vigil from dusk till dawn. And the people of Genevra settled in for the night peacefully. As they always did. It was routinely, typical and ordinary.

Almost.

Tony staggered shakily into his home that night, the walls of emotions collapsing all at once in the place of safety. Hot tears welled up in his eyes feeling the stress of the day caught up to him. In that very moment Tony knew nothing was going to be normal again.

 _Why didn’t you kill on sight?_ The voice of reason chanted unceasingly in his head as the consequences of his actions came rushing at him like a monstrous wave in a gale of destruction, closing his throat shut and filling his lungs. The memory attached to him like a parasite, guilt and a sense of uneasy foreboding chewed on his brain painfully, unwilling to let him rest or find a semblance of solace. 

Blood roared in his ears and his mind screamed with the mercy of the stranger in the forest.

_Now he’ll come back to kill you._

But the quiet of his soul whispered back to him standing strong in the eye of the storm.

_Will he?_

Oh God. _What has he done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t figure out what Benedict’s eye color was and it was driving me nuts! In some interviews it looks like its dark green? But in Doctor Strange I swear it was a light blue. So I gave up and decided that when magic exist Stephen’s eyes can be whatever color I want.
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and support in the first chapter. I really appreciate them!


	3. ‘Tis Folly To Be Wise

“Knowledge Is Power, Ignorance Is Bliss: Happiness Is Striking The Perfect Balance.”

 _―_ Unknown

* * *

Peter Parker liked to observe people. One could say he was way too observant for his own good. But it came as natural as a sixth sense to him. 

Besides, nothing could make his day better than discovering something feverishly new about the people of Genevra. 

For instance, Peter knew that Doctor Banner was the town’s best healer despite his seemingly rough cantankerous bedside manner. Rumors had been said to never antagonize the doctor as he had serious anger management problems but Peter really identified with the guy. With the threat of the Sorcerers dwindling, the young men in Genevra sometimes did real stupid things to entertain themselves with to escape from the circle of boredom. In which 70% of the cases caused them to end up injuring themselves in the process. Some of the regular patients were real assholes. Peter figured Brock Rumlow was the biggest dickhead amongst all of them as within the company of Hunters and his best friend had confirmed the fact. 

“My brother literally is on his last string of patience with him.” Shuri had lamented with a dramatic sigh. “I can’t wait for the day T-Challa pulls rank and demote him to be a butcher instead.” 

Peter had seconded the notion. 

He even managed to work out that the ever impassive and hard-headed Chief Fury had a secret love for the town cats. It was a stroke of good luck really as it was made known to him when Peter was helping Aunt May pick fresh vegetables from the food stalls in the heart of town. Every other day as the Chief made his rounds around the town with his second, Maria Hill, Fury would always pass by the main marketplace where the smaller pets usually gathered and where the wolfhounds roamed. He was particularly fond of that one orange tabby who would always wound itself around the Chief’s ankles and leave fur all over Fury’s socks. 

Peter also concluded that Captain Rogers of the Trackers was pinning hard for his mentor who was oblivious to the growing attempt. It was truly embarrassing. Alas Peter had only verbalized those thoughts to himself of course. He didn’t want to be on the Tracker’s bad side. But deep down, the teen knew that Rogers seemed to be infatuated with what Mr Stark could offer rather than Mr Stark himself. 

And Peter Parker was real certain said man was a step away from falling into a hole of epic anxiety and fretting which he had been pacing the floor of _The Forge_ with. 

As his apprentice, Peter would come to work with the older man from the late mornings till dinner time, four to five times a week. The hours were pretty flexible to be honest and he really enjoyed every moment with his mentor. It was not everyday you get to work side by side with the best blacksmith in town. 

But as of late, Mr Stark had been oddly distracted and strangely jittery. For in the past two days, Tony had been a nervous wreck, jumping at his shadow or getting lost in his head; and by the looks of the bags under his eyes, he wasn’t doing a good job sleeping at night. Also it did not go unnoticed that there was a tender looking bruise blooming on the blacksmith’s left cheek and suspicious looking marks under Tony’s jaw and collarbone. _“I walked into a tree,”_ he had said upon Peter’s questioning gaze. 

Sure he did. And pigs could fly.

“Here, let me get that for you Mr Stark.” Peter remarked exasperatedly as he saw the man dip the same piece of iron plate to cool into a barrel of water again for the third time in five minutes. As if Tony had been slapped, the man flinched and snatched the metal away from the youngest before snapping sharply.

“Goddammit kid! I got this stop it!” 

Peter heard the tremor in his voice and waved off the stricken look Mr Stark gave him the moment the rash words tumbled out of his mentor’s mouth. Something was up if it was significant enough to affect his work which was Tony’s life. But knowing the emotionally-constipated blacksmith, Peter figured it was time to bring out the big guns. 

“Mr Stark?” The younger asked with nothing but open concern for the older blacksmith.

“Is everything ok?” 

All the fight left his mentor like a deflating balloon and Peter easily plucked the iron plate from Tony’s limp hands before taking his time to walk a little distance away to set it aside. Tony was fidgeting unconsciously with the cord of his talisman which was hidden under his loose shirt and working his jaw steadily. It was tell-tale signs that something consequential was bothering him and Peter was going to give him the space to figure himself out in privacy but with the knowledge that he was nearby and willing to listen. 

Mr Stark could be a barbed-tongued menace when the situation came up to it but Peter knew the man wore his heart on his sleeve and cared deeply about the people closest to him. In the beginning, Tony was reluctant to mentor him, afraid to burden Peter with the decades of painful baggage. But it was clear that there was no one better could relate to Peter on an emotional level than Mr Stark. They were both equally dysfunctional in their own ways. 

Thus they agreed to have an open communication between them and the ability to confide with each other freely. Tony was quick to warm up to him and within a week, the older man had taken Peter under his wing. Aunt May was lovely and supported him tirelessly through and through but it was nice to have an adult father-figure to turn to sometimes. On bad rainy days when water streaked across the window panes and lightning tore through the air, the memory of his lost parents would come flooding back. But Peter could always rely on his mentor to ground him and though he had experienced too much loss a 15-year-old should have, he had Mr Stark to valiantly remind him yet again that _everything will be alright_.

Thus Peter was determined to return the favor. 

Maybe Tony had a fallout with Rhodey? A misunderstanding with Pepper? It was not the first time the man had returned with a well-deserved shiner, courtesy from the dame for overstepping his boundaries. Really, Mr Stark had to stop making cocky advancements on Pepper who clearly was not going to take it sitting down. 

Or perhaps it was about the traps? Days ago, Tony had left alone into the woods, stressing how he did not want Peter to follow him much to the latters annoyance. The younger had simmered in his frustration and carried it home to sulk, not waiting for the man to return that night. Peter hoped he had not irritated Mr Stark into a crunch about wanting to check on _The Iron Webs_ with him. 

“Do you sometimes feel like you opened a can of absolute shit and fucked up real bad?” 

The older man quipped finally, making Peter frowned a little at Tony’s efforts in evading the query and the bout of profanity; but a part of him was relieved that he was not the cause of his mentor’s unease. Mr Stark was particular on the language used in _The Forge_. Not that he had been the creator of the rule of course. The head of the town’s blacksmiths had berated endlessly about Tony’s vile language and had put it upon himself to ensure the blacksmiths under his leadership set the highest professionalism and regard. 

Stane was bald-headed, ratty-looking and one of the most unpleasant human Peter had the pleasure of meeting. One did not need his skills of observation to know that. The creep once smiled at him with all teeth and it literally sent shivers down Peter’s spine. 

“We might not be the mainline of defense for this town but we sure create the means to be it! We will hold ourselves to greater standards and profanity will not be tolerated. Don’t make me take it up to the Council about your improper behavior Stark!” 

Peter remembered with a fond smile how Mr Stark curled his lip and rolled his eyes to kingdom come on that fateful day. There was an epic snarking session between the two older blacksmiths and the youngest managed to pick up a few new colorful expressions with the amount of expletives strewn about in the air. The irony not lost on anyone.

But the threat upon his mentor’s job as a blacksmith and the risk of actually sending Nick Fury his way was greater than the bad blood between them and Tony bitingly gave up the fight so he could win the war another time. 

“One day I’ll be the boss Peter.” Tony had hissed to him childishly once Stane was out of earshot. 

_“And I’ll make_ _Obadiah chew on all the fucks I have for him.”_

Peter pushed the sentimental memories out of his head as he placed the cool metal atop the workbench and nodded in Tony’s direction, indicating that he was listening. But the man was not even looking in his direction. His eyes were staring into the empty space between them with an air of loss and bitter contempt towards himself. 

“I have no idea if I had made things worse… I don’t know if I can fix it this time.” 

The youngest struggled to interpret the underlying meaning behind those very vague words. Could it be that a weapon he created misfired or malfunctioned in battle and someone had gotten hurt? Peter knew how much effort Tony used to forge the best ammunition against the Sorcerers. He took pride and personal responsibility in each an every single one of his creations. With a sigh, the youngest knew his mentor would take each failure to heart and with the growing expectations of the town’s people Tony would allow the weight of it all to eat at him. 

To err is human after all. No one in this world lived without experiencing failure.

Sometimes Peter hated the people of Genevra for making Tony feel that they only wanted him for his skills and not for the great selfless man he truly was.

“Not everyone is perfect Mr Stark. You could always go back and finish the job properly again. You’ll never know till you try!” The words left Peter in a rush as he tried with all his might to find the correct way to express the act of his faultless failure into the thick-skull of his mentor. 

“Maybe it will put you at ease by taking care of things once and for all the second time around!” 

* * *

The sun remained steadfast in the like a blazing ball of fire, casting a late afternoon shadow on the two teenagers as they scrambled in a rush of furious desperation to complete their assigned mission. It was a race against the elements and losing would mean the contender collapsing with dehydration. 

Well maybe it was not that dramatic. But someone had to take one for the team and pluck the ripened apples from the fifty-odd fruit trees surrounding the western gate before the fresh harvest shriveled under the strangling heat or get consumed by wildlife. 

Peter was starting to regret leaving _The Forge_ in favor of helping Shuri facilitate the children of the town to assist in the collection of fruits on the outskirts of Genevra. Mr Stark had generously given the rest of the day to Peter much to the latter’s delight. The older blacksmith had decided with a sudden apparition of resolve and determination that the great Tony Stark ‘was going to take care of things once and for all’. It was nice to know Peter was a little responsible for his mentor’s rapid motivation, whatever it might be. 

Truly, it was a nice change from the self-deprecating angst that had been rolling off Mr Stark like a wave in the last two days. 

If only Peter could regain the same sense of satisfaction here as the oldest in the group of juveniles. It was a chaotic mess of yelling and hollering before Peter finally manage to wrangle one full apple basket each into their grubby hands. With a huff of barely concealed irritation, he watched as his fellow teen ushered the children back into the direction of Genevra. 

Peter swore he could see the daylight guards laughing at their attempts from the western gates several yards away as they welcomed the tiny horrors back into the town. 

“Oh my God I’m going to get a sunburn!” Shuri drawled with all the flare of a melodramatic princess, pulling the hood of her shirt up further to cover her dark face. 

Rolling his eyes fondly at his best friend’s performance, Peter replied with a mocked deadpanned sigh. 

“If anyone is going to burn it would be my pale pasty self!” 

With a smirk, Shuri strode up to Peter and shoved an empty fruit basket in his hands. 

“C’me on my favorite white boy. There’s one more row of trees at the end. I’ll take the left side and you take the right.” A glint of challenge sparkled in her hazelnut eyes. 

“Last one who finishes treats the other for dinner!”

“Deal!” Peter exclaimed, his competitive streak coming alive at once and motioned at the girl to give the signal. Shuri flipped her dreadlocks away from her face and nodded.

“One, two- GO!” 

“Hey! You didn’t say three!” 

Peter snorted as Shuri’s laughter rang out ahead leaving him in the dust of leaves settling down to the earth for a second before giving chase relentlessly. 

Five minutes later found two sticky teenagers sprawled and panting under the biggest apple tree, faces flushed with smudges of dirt and sweat but boring twin smiles and chortles of delighted laughter. It was a close race but Peter’s longer legs compensated for his false start and managed to give him the edge to be victorious. 

“Gahh! You and your spiderlegs.” Peter curled his lip into a grin when Shuri huffed good-naturedly taking her 2nd place in stride. The older teen snagged his water container from his daypack and quickly gulped down the cool liquid before offering some to his friend. The girl exchanged it with a piece of fruit and tossed Peter an apple from her basket as a congratulatory gift before continuing cheekily, “Here’s tonight’s desert as promised!” 

Feigning disappointment, the older teen sighed and crossed his arms in a pout. 

“Oh well… Looks like I have to tell the world who the biggest sore-loser in Genevra is.”

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” Shuri yelped, jumping up animatedly and caused a smile to reappear on Peter’s face again. 

“I’ll be making stew tonight with my folks. Come by our place before the sun sets!” 

“You guys had better not ruin it before I arrive!” 

The girl blew a sassy raspberry before playfully shoving his water container back at him. “We aren’t beasts!” 

When Peter raised a brown knowingly, Shuri sighed in exasperation.

“I’ll make sure N'Jadaka behaves and not start another food fight with my brother again in your presence.” 

“Better!”

Peter really loved spending time with the other youths in the town but Shuri never ceased to brighten his day. It was hard to find someone who could keep up with his fast-paced thought process, who was as observant as he was and who could return his crazy banter. Shuri had ticked all the boxes in his metaphorical checklist. With the addition of having a charm for sarcasm and mischief and being incredulously smart, what more could a boy want? 

“You win this round.” The girl declared. “But when I start my training under Ms Romanoff next week I’ll beat your ass!”

“Holy shit!” It was Shuri’s dream to be a Tracker and Peter knew she was going to be attached with a senior one soon. But he didn’t think it would be the town’s scariest dame!

“How did you manage to convince her to be your mentor?” Good lord, that woman can make even the toughest men flee in terror with just a glare. Peter was genuinely curious on how Shuri had managed to pull it off.

“The same way you managed to be apprenticed by Genevra’s best blacksmith!” His friend returned smartly, eyes twinkling with mirth. 

_Touché._

“Speak of the devil. Isn’t that him right there?” 

Peter swirled his head around sharply at Shuri’s words as she pointed him to the direction of the west gate. Sure enough, Mr Stark was seen nodding at the guard and heading away from the pair, striding towards the thick of the forest. There was a bulky rucksack thrown on his shoulders and Peter saw a glimpse of his tool harness wrapped around his waist.

Huh. Was that chainmail under Tony’s thicker than normal tunic? And didn’t Tony say he was going to take care of things? 

Intrigued, Peter could not help but wonder where his mentor was going. Surely Tony could not have had completed and given closure to whatever had been plaguing him so soon. 

An idea was forming in his mind and theories of where the older man was going and what he had planned to do begun bouncing around in Peter’s head.

“Hey Shuri could you do me a favor? Take my basket back for me please!” He spoke quickly, pushing the apples closer to the girl’s feet, his eyes not leaving the blacksmith who was walking further and further away.

“I’m going to go help Mr Stark.”

“Didn’t he give you the day off?”

“Yeah but I’m sure he’s going to check _The Iron Webs_ and he’ll need help to reset the traps!” 

Shuri was clearly not falling for it if the squinting of her eyes and the cocking of her perfect brow was saying anything. Her next comment confirmed it. 

“You’re clearing going to tail your mentor to see what he’s up to aren’t ya?” 

Goddammit. It frightened Peter a little at how easily she saw right through him. His desperation must have had been tangible because the girl gave in after a heartbeat.

“Fine fine. Only because you won Parker!” 

“You’re the best!” Peter exclaimed and surged forward engulfing his friend a tight hug, ignoring the yelp that escaped Shuri. With a _See you tonight!_ and a _Don’t tell anyone okay?_ tossed across his shoulder, the youngster grabbed his daypack and ran to catch up with his mentor. 

It was a half-hearted attempt to shadow Tony, that Peter knew. He had literally the stalking skills of a clumsy honey badger on ice. (There was a reason he signed up to be a blacksmith and not a Tracker). The teen was certain that he would be heard within five minutes of stumbling about before being discovered and then sent back to the town with a slap on the wrist or a tongue-lashing. But the blacksmith was marching forward with all the purpose of a man on a mission. His tunnel-vision seemingly blocking out everything and anything around him as Tony continued moving westwards confidently. 

Peter bit his lip as a twig snapped under his foot and echoed into the forest clearly but his mentor as observed, did not even twitch or make a move to turn around to watch his back. _Well that wasn’t very safe was it now?_ For all he knew, Peter could be the enemy prowling behind with all intent of executing an ambush. Sometimes Peter wondered how the talented and admirable Mr Stark had such minimal survival instincts.

Keener, one of the newest Trackers who was present at the border patrol skirmish had told his exaggerated tales of horror in the forest saying he had almost died, narrowly missing a blast of magic from a Sorcerer that scorched the grass black. The youths of the town shivered in alarm and pressed closer to soak in the story and assisted in pumping Harley’s ego. But Peter called bullshit. A real high-powered Sorcerer would have taken down every living thing within a mile of its location easily, he had thought. 

Alas, it didn’t stop the feeling of apprehension in him when the grass crackled unusually noisily under Peter’s feet as he saw the trees thinning and an open sandy clearing come in view. He could hear the remote swirling of water in the dried up ravine far below and the crunch of heavy boots on gravel. Mr Stark had finally came to a stop after fifteen minutes of trampling through the forest.

Peter ducked behind a big oak tree several yards away as Tony stood at the edge of the cliff and begun digging around in his rucksack. There was a hair-raising feeling of unease as if the surrounding air had been electrified before and left static residue in its wake. The youngster couldn’t really put his finger down on the feeling but he did not like it.

Peter had never actually seen a Sorcerer before much to the deadpan of his morbid curiosity. The war raged on incidentally but it had simmered down within the last decade and seeing them around now was a rarity. This was the one topic and discussion that remained unspoken between him and Tony though. _“I hope you never encounter one ever”_ was all his mentor had to say about it and Peter had never brought the redacted subject up again. He knew his mentor had history with these beings. And it was definitely not memorable ones.

Certainly, he had heard just about all of the horror stories about the Sorcerers though. Peter’s vivid imagination often conjured up images of what he thought their hated enemy would appear to be. Perhaps there were sharp foreign runes carved into their flesh with tendrils of supernatural energy flowing through their veins with malice. They would probably be armed with razor sharp teeth and claws like talons. Peter reckoned that they had eyes that could glow in the dark and the power of their magic could incinerate a human instantly and annihilate towns.

He was curious but he wasn’t stupid. If he ever saw even a glimpse of such a diabolical, nightmarish creature he would not hesitate to run in the opposite direction. Peter will leave it to the Trackers and other warriors to do the slaying thank you very muc-

Oh shit, Mr Stark was _attempting to scale down the goddamn cliff._

“What the hell man…” Peter swore that he would get his mentor to attend a desperately needed lesson in self-preservation when they got back. Maybe Sam could help. He was as close as a shrink this dysfunctional town had. 

Peter watched as Tony stabbed a chunk of a reinforced curved iron plate into the ground and secured a roll of thick nylon rope to the end of the metal. Tugging at it experimentally, the blacksmith deemed it safe and tied the other end to the harness on his waist. Without a second’s hesitation, he donned his blacksmith gloves and began to descend into the gorge. The rope stretched taut and then Mr Stark disappeared from view.

The youngster patiently gave himself a couple of minutes before lowering himself to the ground carefully, wincing at the way the gravel shuffled underfoot and peered over the edge. He watched as Tony safely reached the base of the ravine, undid the rope from his belt, stripped off his gloves and began to follow the gentle river onwards along the dried mud banks.

A resented sigh left Peter pointedly as the youngster squashed his fear of heights far into the back of his head. He had come too far to turn back now. 

Many a time, all for fun and games, the youths of the town would scale the length of the huts in Genevra. Each daring the other to go to greater heights. Once, Peter had climbed to the top of the council's high tower. It was a pretty darn tall building and but he made it safely down as well. Albeit, it was safe to say Aunt May sprouted more grey hair overnight after that incident. So how different and hard could abseiling a 20 foot cliff be? 

“Well here goes nothing!” He exclaimed to no one in particular, feeling a surge of determination and the tingling sense of apprehension running down his spine.

Hopefully Mr Stark would not be that pissed with him when he was inevitably discovered. The feeling of anticipation at what his mentor was going to find overthrew the logical side of him that hissed _what a fucking terrible idea this is!_

With that, Peter tightened his daypack onto the small of his back and began his slow and careful freehand decent down into the valley. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Pete, he still has no idea what's going on.


	4. Sympathy For The Enemy

_“No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite.”_ _  
_

_― Nelson Mandela_

* * *

In another lifetime Peter thought that he might have had been a Spider monkey. Rubbing his tender rope-burnt palms and immersing them in the cool running water of the stream, Peter heaved a sigh of relief that he didn’t know he was holding. The cliff where he was minutes ago looked miles high up from where he currently standing at the base of the narrow ravine. Halfway down the perilous journey, the soles of his shoes had failed him and Peter had to admit that it was a pretty darn close call. 

Silently, the youngster thanked his guardian angel who hopefully had not developed an aneurysm looking out for him. 

_Oh the things he did to be like Mr Stark._

Brushing the dirt from his slightly skinned knees, Peter took a moment to observe his new point of view. The sunlight that streamed through the ravine was muffled by the heavy vegetation that had sprouted randomly, high up on both sides of the gaping gorge but dulled in comparison as it came to the bottom where the green turned to brown. Everything seemed muted and colder down here; the only sign of life was the rustling of creatures in the crevices of the rocks, several shrubs that grew out from the fertile, sediment-rich mud and the ever-running stream digging through the ravine and rushing merrily towards the canyons ahead. 

There were two different sets of footprints trailed out clearly on the muddy banks. One deep and evenly spread out, the other fainter but irregular and haphazard as if the owner of them had been stumbling about like a blind drunk. Peter recognized the former as Tony’s from the criss-cross pattern of the prints imprinted onto the muck. 

Judging on how determined Mr Stark was earlier and how he had specifically came down to this exact spot at the bottom of a freaking ravine, Peter did not require a PHD to know that the second set of prints belonged to the individual responsible for, or at least related to, his mentor’s plaguing problem. 

It looked like he had a trail to follow and was finally going to solve this strange puzzle once and for all. 

The mudbank gradually grew increasingly damp and the ground started to be littered with more and more coarse rocks along the bank whilst the teen continued parallel westwards. The waters too came dangerously close to the face of the irregular twisting walls as the ravine grew steadily narrower and narrower. Nevertheless, Peter trudged stubbornly on, albeit gulping a little when a rather slimy patch of algae was nearly responsible for him slipping into the stream. Twisting his body so that his back was against the rugged cliff face, he struggled to avoid taking a dip into the swirling water. Luckily, due to the fact that it had not rained in the past three months, the stream remained shallow and benign. If the water level was any higher he would risk getting washed downstream and wouldn’t that be just _awful_. But when Peter made the tight turn and rounded the corner of the winding wall he found that wet socks was the last of his concern.

Greeting him on the other side, exposed by the low-tide and dying river was a gaping natural opening of a formidable cave. Dumbstruck, Peter took another moment to stare into the dark hollowed entrance that took up almost half of the entire cliff-face, mouth agape. Well, he never expected to come across a freaking cave this early in the shallows of the ravine! Peter peeled his eyes away from the wide natural fissure hoping but in vain that Tony decided to by-pass the cave.

At the mouth of the cave, there were clear scuff marks and smudges of discolorations scattered on the ground. The ferns at the entrance had been crushed and the soft moss littering the ground had been trampled on as if something or someone had dragged itself into the opening of the natural cave. Peter easily made out Tony’s footprints carefully wounding around the mess of mud and flora. Nimbly, the teen matched the blacksmith’s, stepping over gingerly and making his way deeper into the cave. He had not come this far to turn back now.

Earth slowly morphed into smooth limestone, the air grew cooler and as Peter trekked inwards it dawned on him that this was not just a single-tunneled cave. As the end of the tunnel came into view and the dimming sunlight streamed upwards, the teen found himself gazing up awestruck. Peter had broken into a small clearing which was slightly bigger than his living room back at Genevra across but at least 15 yards high. The ceiling stretched overhead and if he looked carefully there looked to have multiple opening further up which seemed to be interconnected to each other through the passageways. 

How this majestic cavern managed to form in the depths of this ravine a mere mile from Genevra and go unnoticed for so long was beyond Peter.

This being said, the teen was pretty deep into this natural formation which had little light due to said fact that little sunlight could reach so far. If he was not careful Peter could get lost in the labyrinth of caves. No one would know where he had gone because he did tell Shuri not to let anyone know where he was going. 

Annnnd there were no more footprints to follow. 

_Fuck._

Suddenly, the eerily electrifying feeling he felt before he descended into the ravine was back in full force and the raw surge of _the supernatural_ almost sent the teen hurtling out of the cavern in fear. Peter felt an involuntary shiver run down the length of his spine as shadows danced on the lengths of the walls and the stalactites hanging from the ceiling creaked in warning. The slow drip of calcium-rich water that echoed somewhere in the vast cavern seemed to be in time with the staccato beating of his heart.

Maybe this was not such a good idea after al-

**“Why did you run?”**

Without so much as a warning, Tony’s clear voice barked out of the blue and reverberated thunderously through the hollows of the cavern’s multiple chambers causing Peter to jump out of his skin in a stab of absolute terror. 

With a hand on his pounding heart, the teen closed his eyes and took a moment to gather his wits. On one hand it sounded that Mr Stark was just a couple of yards ahead and hurrah Peter was not going to get lost here after all! 

On the other hand, he had nearly pissed himself in fucking trepidation, not that he would ever admit it of course. 

“Why did _you_ let me go?” A foreign voice retorted hoarsely from somewhere in the cavern and froze Peter in his tracks mid-thought.

A sound of metal sliding across limestone filled the cavern and without thinking, the teen forced his muscles into action and shuffled towards the sound. A sigh of relief left him as his mentor came into view. Tony had his back to him and was promptly blocking Peter’s view of what the blacksmith seemed to be directing his attention towards in the darkest part of the cavern. 

From his hiding spot behind a huge stalagmite, Peter could only make out a silver dagger that skittered out of the shadows and came to a halt when his mentor stopped it with his boot. Even in the low-light, Peter saw that metal had been coated with a thin copper-like color which was looking suspiciously like… _blood?_

As if he had been struck, Mr Stark flinched violently and twisted his body sharply in Peter’s direction. In a flash, Tony had ripped the other dagger off the floor and another from his belt and brandished the two weapons around the empty of the cavern. 

“Who's there? Show yourself!” 

Peter clamped his palm tightly across his mouth and cursed, dropping himself down into a crouch. Aw shit. He said that out loud didn’t he? Gingerly, the youngster peeped through the cracks of the natural mound of calcium and salt only to see a flash of two very pointy silvers heading in his direction.

Mr Stark may not be a Tracker or a warrior but he did know his way around a pair of sharp knives. He was not called the best weapons blacksmith for shits and giggles. There was very real, feral and uncharismatic danger spilling out of his every advancing pore. 

So when Tony hissed out another warning, his eyes glittering wildly, the teen quickly came to the conclusion that getting ripped apart by his mentor was really not on his agenda list today.

With a quick exhale, Peter decided that it was now or never.

“H-Hey Mr Stark!” The teen slinked out of his hiding spot with a weak grin and meekly raised his hands up in the universal sign of surrender.

“Fancy meeting you here as well!”

Both daggers slipped from slack fingers clattering onto the cavern floor and a strangled gasp of horror filled the clearing.

_“Peter?!”_

* * *

_“_ -ave the _audacity_ to pull such a reckless stunt! _Have you lost your goddamn mind?_ ” The shrieking went up another octave, ringing unceasingly throughout the cavern and successfully chasing away all living creatures within seven yards of where a blacksmith and his apprentice stood. One was livid with palpitating anger while the other was trying in vain to dig a hole through the ground with the sheer power of his eyes alone.

“Don’t pretend like you thought this through!”

“I did-”

“You could not have _possibly_ thought this through!”

Peter winced, ducking his head in contrite as Tony went on another hysterical rant, hands waving around in a maniatic frenzy. Chewing on his lip nervously, the teen felt guilt clawing at his chest at the underlying distress and alarm behind the harsh words thrown at him. He had never intended to cause Mr Stark to become so upset and worked up over this minor incident that he was responsible for. 

(Ok he did scale into a ravine freehand and was real close to slipping into the stream but that was a spur-of-the-moment decision and hey it turned out alright didn’t it?)

Mr Stark definitely did not see it that way at all. Peter shrunk in on himself again when his mentor resumed the one-sided screaming session and tried yet again to conjure a portal at his feet if that was what it took to get himself out of this ugly mess. 

“If- _When_ we get back to Genevra you and I are going to have a very _very_ _serious_ conversation about this Parker!” 

“I’m really really sorr-”

“Oh HO you _will be_ when I’m through with you...” 

Seeing that the seething tongue-lashing going a mile a minute would not come to a close anytime soon, Peter proceeded to sigh in muted exasperation. It was best to just let his mentor hoot and screech to his heart’s content. When Tony had reached a considerable level of cool-headedness, the teen would then seek answers to his undying multitude of questions-

Abruptly, Peter remembered in a flash the very reason why he had decidedly followed Mr Stark all the way into the cavern in the first damn place. 

And rightfully so because Peter had suddenly realized that they were not alone. 

Half obscured in the shadows, shrouded in darkness and light like a vague silhouette, a figure of a young man laid propped up against the furthest side of the limestone wall. He looked to be about of similar age to Tony, even matching up with an identical scruffy goatee and was clad in a mage-like attire that had clearly seen better days. Even from a distance, it was obvious that there was something wrong with him health-wise if the way his body was coiled to the left where his arm cradling his side as if his ribs were injured and a long piece of red fabric that was tied securely around his left thigh as if to staunch a bleed said anything about the situation. 

“Stay back! He’s dangerous!” 

A frown puckered the teen’s brow and confusion littered his features at the blacksmith’s shrilly exclamation. Clearly Mr Stark should realize that he was slightly overreacting. The stranger genuinely looked two steps away from passing out at the rate he was going and seriously appeared to barely be a threat. Heck, Tony was the one literally flashing his weapons on display. If anything, Mr Stark was the one that was currently the most dangerous living thing in the cavern.

“What the hell is wrong with you?! Did your leave your last two brain cells at home? I said get back!”

Shrugging off his half-crazed mentor, Peter decided with finality that he was tired of getting yelled at and really wanted some clear answers that would not be screamed at him for once. Besides, what could go wrong really. Peter reckoned if the man made a move, weak as he was, the teen could take him down in a heartbeat.

“Hey, you alright? What’s your name?”

The visibly unarmed stranger was still for a second as if contemplating the consequences and the repercussions of revealing the state of his health or identity, even if it were just merely his name. But with the imposing figure of Tony who was armed to the teeth screeching like a banshee behind, Peter could see that the guy was running pretty low on options.

“It’s Strange.” The man spoke at last, his tongue rolling on the word with a hint of a lost accent that the teen could not identify. 

“Oh it sure is _asshole!”_ Tony snarked crudely deciding to finally walk up beside his apprentice, interrupting Peter’s train of thought with all the muster of a petulant child who had been denied his serving of dessert. The teen frowned a little at his mentor’s unnecessary aggressiveness. Peter decisively deserved to be ripped to shreds by Tony but surely this stranger had yet to do anything to merit such a sharp retort.

“No, the name is _Stephen_ Strange you _douchebag_.” The man, Stephen, returned rather boldy despite his circumstances with an air of defiance. And Mr Stark rightly proceeded to absolutely lose his shit yet again. 

_“What did you just say to me?!”_

“You heard me human. What are you going to do? Stab my other leg?” 

Peter could only gawk incredulously, feeling for all the world like he was missing an important key of evidence as the two fully-grown adults begun hurtling barbed insults and vicious threats to the other mercilessly. A sense of awful déjà vu overcame the teen. However this time, as his eyes bounced back and forth between the screaming match from his mentor to the stranger who was in fact actually called Strange, Peter did not think that this was going to be the least bit memorable at all.

 _This_ was what Mr Stark was terribly upset about and had worked himself into an epic ball of stress for? Retaliating against and attacking an injured stranger with rage summoned from the very pits of hell in a dank cavern at the bottom of a ravine? 

_What the fuck was going on again?_

Alas, Peter found himself hastily moving forward and standing firmly in between the men, holding his hands up placatingly when Mr Stark actually unsheathed his dagger from his belt and readied himself to advance onto the wounded man, looking downright _murderous_. 

The genuine fury and disgust churning in Tony’s usually clear eyes, frightened Peter. Never before had he seen this side of his mentor. Nonetheless, the clear animosity in the blacksmith’s stance and the twist of hatred visible on his features spoke louder than words. Perhaps there was more to this than met the eye. _That was it_. Peter was well and truly done with the entirety of this bizarre mess that was currently warping out of control. 

With an _excuse me for a second mister,_ pointed in the other man’s direction, the youngster closed his fingers around his mentor’s elbow and pulled the tense-looking Tony firmly to the far side of the limestone wall. Promptly ignoring the older blacksmith’s seething squak of protest again. If no one was going to be clear-headed adult in this goddamn room, Peter was going to take it upon himself to regain some semblance of order. 

“With all due respect Mr Stark, when you said you were going to ‘ _take care of things once and for all’_ , I didn’t think you would be scaling down cliffs, running into caverns and resorting to _manslaughter!”_ It felt good to finally have his turn to holler back and letting out some steam. 

“What the heck is going on?” 

If it was possible, Tony’s face turned a shade darker mimicking a perfect imitation of a storm cloud and Peter watched in amazement as a myriad of raw emotions from fury, indignation, horror and wrath-induced exasperation crossed his mentor’s face.

“T-That miserable bastard! I-I…The _weasel!”_ The blacksmith spluttered about incoherently, hands flailing wildly as Peter ducked his head, narrowly avoiding a frenzied slap to the face. 

“Don’t you see it Peter? He’s a _fucking Sorcerer!”_

Instantaneously, the earth around him whitened out and the swirling madness of his world came to an abrupt, grinding halt. Peter barely had time to grip onto the proverbial hand-breaks before reality crashed through the glass of normalcy. 

Hold up, _hold up. What?_

“A S-Sorcerer?” Peter echoed weakly feeling his tongue numbly stuck somewhere between his throat and teeth, visibly unable to believe his very ears. 

_A Sorcerer?_

As if on cue, Peter’s brain went into overdrive and started spitting out information mechanically like it was just another day in Genevra. 

_These were the beings who channeled the supernatural from their hands and conjured golden weapons through their palms. The abominations who turned_ _towns to dust in the wake of their wrath and tyranny. The monsters Man defeated and managed to cast out into the void of the wilderness and returned humanity to the top as the superior conquerors._

_They were the nightmare, the creatures lurking in the dark to fear and hate._

The actuality of the entire situation refused to be processed. And amongst the growing mess of jumbled thoughts shrouding the teen’s cranium, Peter just could not believe that there was one _right in front of his very eyes_. He was literally on the verge of a splendid malfunction. How... _What was happening?_

There was absolutely no possible way on God’s green earth that the sickly, half-dead man huddled in the darkness of the cavern could be capable of such _horror_. 

So in the heat of the moment, with only one functional brain cell currently in occupation of his head, Peter could not stop the spontaneous outburst that ripped itself out of his mouth. 

“But… But he looks just like us!”

“ _Just like_ -” Livid could not even come close to describing the explosive way his mentor had reacted as he stormed right up till he was mere feet from the teen. “Peter you _just don’t get it, do you?_ ” 

“Do you know how many of us they killed? How many families they _ripped apart_ and children they left _orphaned?”_

The bubbling fury emitting from his mentor was acrid and palpitating. So much so that Peter found himself unconsciously taking a step back from the blacksmith in a growing foreboding fear of what Tony might do next. It must have been reflected clear on his frightened face because in that second, Mr Stark’s rage melted and transformed into despair instead. The teen was suddenly greeted with plain, raw desperation that flitted across Tony twisted features as if his mentor urgently wanted Peter to open his eyes and become aware of the severity of the situation for what it truly was. A whisper of something unsaid rolled like smoke, billowing into the frigid air. 

_Don’t you know what they had done to me?_

But then before the truth of the words could be processed, an unanticipated burst of complete horror slammed into Peter’s chest like the force of a sledgehammer as a fleeting repulsive thought slithered into existence. 

Without warning, the teen blurted out words that made him sick to his very core.

“Would you have... killed him if-if I wasn’t here?”

Instantaneously, the clearing was plunged into a nauseating, troubled silence. 

Tony’s face twisted into a bitter, stricken look of agony, looking for all in the world that Peter had physically struck and ripped out his very heart. If anything, the dreadful sound of silence roared a louder outcry than the outrage that poured out of his mentor mere seconds ago. Swallowing the ball of bile threatening to rise, Peter stifled a cry of despair at the excusatory but justifiable longing of remorse rolling in the depths of his mentor’s honey-brown eyes. 

For the first time, with everything that had occurred, Peter truly could not make out what Mr Stark’s next intentions were- and it terrified him. 

“He did free me from the trap for reasons beyond me.” 

Said Sorcerer was the one that unexpectedly cut the stifling silence cautiously, curling in on himself and tightening a shaking right hand around his left when Tony shot him an incredulous glare but not before turning carefully to Peter’s direction. 

“I like to think killing was not first on his agenda list boy.” 

If Peter did not know better as his heart hammered loudly in his chest at the way those emerald eyes struck his very soul, it sounded like the freaking magic-user was trying to be _reassuring_. 

Just like that, the tranquilizing spell was seemingly lifted and Peter visibly collected himself, making a note that he was genuinely going to take up the offer of a serious conversation with Mr Stark once all this was over. 

That is if they all made it out with their limbs intact.

“I’m straying closer and closer to that option _Sorcerer_.” Tony all but spat out, shaking himself out of his stupor and visibly bristling in disbelief that the enemy would even think of uttering such words. Peter flinched sharply at the title he was not used hearing tossed around so casually in a single sentence much less out of Mr Stark’s very own mouth. He did catch a glimpse of uncertainty and dismay in his mentor’s dark eyes as the blacksmith turned away, curling his fingers tightly into a fist as if it would prevent him from wielding the dagger and surging forward to use it. But alas, it was not directed at the enemy lying in front of them. 

Peter pressed a hand to his temple where a growing migraine was steadily forming, almost dizzy at how the situation had transformed so rapidly out of control. This man was a Sorcerer. He was the most dangerous creature to human kind. A threat to be detested and neutralized. They were responsible for the death of his people after all. Where the greatest enemy of humankind had been vanquished, they were now reduced to nothing but a vague memory and a childhood horror fable. How did such a powerful being fall so far from grace? 

Where was the fierce runes trailing across their skin? Where was the tendrils of deadly magic and malicious sparking weapons at his fingertips? Clearly, a Sorcerer was truly just as normal as another Man! 

So why had Peter been taught for years that they were oh so different? 

Twisting away from Tony’s piercing gaze, Peter turned his attention to the Sorcerer instead. It seemed that the exchange of outburst had further drained the Sorcerer as he curled himself further into the darkness with his eyes squeezed shut, clear discomfort written all over his body. It was as if he wanted the shadows to swallow him up and disappear. 

Truth be told, it was actually a rather bewildering scene. The supposed frightening monster of everyone’s nightmares that could shred and burn with just their fingertips was cramped in the deepest corner a the cavern looking just like an abused dog tossed carelessly into a ditch in the marketplace. Never in his 15 years of living did Peter Parker think he would one day compare their greatest enemy to a pitiful, hapless animal. 

Sympathy wrapped around Peter’s heart. Since the day he was born he was thought to hate, to detest and fear the unknown. But how could he hold resentment to someone who had never lifted a finger of animosity to him? The teen was not that gullible. Without a doubt, Sorcerers had been responsible for plenty of deaths and destruction, they had affected the lives of so many of his people and certainly were far from innocent. 

_But didn’t Man do the same to their kind as well?_

_Were they not a rightful mirror image and reflection of humanity?_

It was such a disconcerting thought but the teen found himself feeling sorry for the Sorcerer and his kind that had been conjured into a nightmare. Peter wondered bitterly where the mercy and compassion of _humanity_ in Man had gone. 

Perhaps… There was still time for change.

Disregarding Mr Stark’s aghast cry of _kid_ _what are you doing?_ Peter found himself closing the gap between the Sorcerer and himself, reaching into his daypack and pulling out his water container as a neutral offering. Shuri had drank her fill earlier but it was still half full. 

Wordlessly, Peter uncapped it and took a clear sip of water. _It’s not poisoned_ remained unsaid as the teen stopped cautiously before he came within arm’s reach. Crouching down slowly, Peter boldly pushed the canister forward towards the magic-user who stilled, looking absolutely bewildered at the simple act of charity. The man made no move to shift away or jerk to offense, rather he merely stared at the water container as it was an adder that would spring up to attack in a moments notice. The teen mentally gave himself a pat on the back. 

Peter heard a harsh inhale sounding behind him and knew Tony was watching. With the knowledge that his mentor had his back and would jump in if things went south, Peter took a leap of faith and raised his eyes where he was crouched to take in the situation laid in front of him. 

Up close, just several feet away now, Peter could finally get a good look of the Sorcerer unobscured from the shadows. A pang of compassion wrapped around the teen’s heart and _squeezed_ as the magic-user came in clear view. 

There was a thin sheen of sweat covering the Sorcerer’s body and it was wracked in tiny almost unnoticeable tremors. Smudges of dirt and blood was prominent against his temple, face and sharp cheekbones. Peter could see the rapid heaving of his battered chest and hear the painful wheeze that accompanied. The Sorcerer’s hands remained hidden, one under the long red fabric tied around his thigh that was probably hiding an injury and the other around his left side covered by navy robes. However, the entire length of his arms were criss-crossed in abrasions, some in different stages of healing as if he had been tossed into a human-size food shredder. In Spite of it all, there was a clear unyielding sense of defiance in him and Peter knew if the situation came to it, this man would fight to his last breath- on death’s doorstep or not. 

Nevertheless, all doubt of said man’s true nature evaporated from his mind as Peter saw the material that was wrapped around the Sorcerer’s exposed left thigh twitch and uncoil itself from its twisted position. An ugly ragged splash of red was left in its wake. If Peter had taken notice of the clearly infected wound, he would have realized why the Sorcerer was unable to move to take the canister himself. But all attention was fixed on the animated piece of cloth that had _suddenly come to life_ and Peter literally felt his heart stop for a moment.

The youngster watched in morbid fascination as the crimson fabric floated to the ground beside the water container, inches from the teen and scooped it up with the edge of its collar before fluttering back to the Sorcerer like an oversized puppy eager to please its owner. 

Peter felt Tony tightened his grip on his trembling arm in an attempt to ground him protectively and dragged his frozen self several feet away where the blacksmith deemed it safe. All this while too stunned to realize that his mentor’s other free hand had never once relinquish hold on his weapon. 

“You’re insane kid.” Distantly he heard Mr Stark’s astounded hiss that sounded somewhere above his left ear. 

“You’re truly fucking insane.” 

Ultimately hitting the nail on the head, the magical cloak turned itself around pointedly towards the pair and raised the edge of its cloth to mimic a bashful wave as if it were a human bidding adieu. It was in that very moment at last where Peter finally feel the epic realization of reality come crashing down onto him like a raw clap of electrifying thunder.

“He _really_ is a Sorcerer. H-Holy shit. _Holy shit.”_

“Are you _just_ getting that now?!” 

“T-That red t-thing… I-It’s alive too?!” 

“Welcome to Sorcery 101. They come with sentient outerwears.” Tony hissed sardonically, his eyes never leaving the magical duo as the teen gawked unbelievably on. “Trust me I know. I’ve been up close and personal with that shit.” At Peter’s incredulous stare, wide-eyed, slacked-jawed- the whole package, his mentor pursed his lips and pointed to the fading bruise on his cheekbone. 

“Where do you think I really got this lovely shiner from?” 

“You told me you walked into a tree!” The teen yelped, scandalized. His mind then whirled in comprehension of what actually happened.

“I mean I knew you were lying Mr Stark! But of all the scenarios I thought had happened, _you_ _battling a Sorcerer into a ravine_ did not even touch my lis-”

A rough clearing of the throat jolted mentor and apprentice out of their conversing and both their heads whipped in union to face the magic-user who just narrowed questioningly but not before glancing at Peter yet again with a silent _thank you._ A ball of raw sentiment caught the back of the teen’s throat at the feeling of gratitude that seemed to pour out of the Sorcerer’s body as naturally as any other man would. Peter could do nothing but return a stiff nod of acknowledgment.

“I do not have enough to offer anything back to you in return yet.” The Sorcerer spoke out finally, his thirst quenched. Pushing the empty water container obediently back to Peter’s direction, he looked up to the wary pair with slightly clearer eyes before continuing.

“Just give me one more day and we can start. I wouldn’t attempt to run again.”

Silence filled the clearing and the tension could be sliced with a hot knife. The ambiguity of the Sorcerer’s words was tangibly disconcerting and in spite of everything that had transpired, it started to raise red flags in the teen’s brain.

“Start? Start what?” Tony broke the silence, echoing his very thoughts. The blacksmith frowned suspiciously and turned to Peter who suddenly felt like the conversation was going into a new unsettling direction.

“I’m sorry I didn’t quite catch that last part Sorcerer.”

“Cut the formalities _human_.” The reply was bone-dry, deadpanned and straight to the point.

“It seems that the only reason why I’m still kept alive is because you are waiting for my energy to regenerate before taking my magic and Ability for yourselves in exchange.”

_Wait. What?_

Color blanched from his mentor’s face and Peter staggered back, gobsmacked, feeling as if someone had reached into his heart and crushed it viciously.

Oblivious to the dumbstruck silence in the wake of his shocking revelation, the Sorcerer continued steadfast, his stormy eyes darkening with a feeble perverted sense of strained submission as the last of his fight in his battered body dissolved like dust in a storm.

“Is that not what Man do to creatures like us in return?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally the plot deepens! *gasps in feign shock* 
> 
> Truth be told, this was the first chapter I wrote. I was hesitant to post it altogether as it was a massive 15 pages long after tweaking and adjusting but it flowed so nicely and I was so goddamn proud of it so I decided against cutting it into two parts.
> 
> Hold on tight to your seats my friends, the best has yet to come!


	5. The Fate of Injustice: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-graphic torture.

_“History is always written by the winners. When two cultures clash, the loser is obliterated, and the winner writes the history books-books which glorify their own cause and disparage the conquered foe. As Napoleon once said, 'What is history, but a fable agreed upon?’ ”_

_― Dan Brown, The Da Vinci Code_

* * *

Since the beginning of time, he seemed to be in a constant state of running, fleeing and hiding. His world was plagued with misfortune and devastation. One tainted memory, one horrible experience, always one after another like a seething vengeance of his inevitable fate as a Sorcerer. However, the comforting warmth of his magic was always by his side, the only constant he could always rely on and take refuge in. It was the last means of defense between the rest of the earth and himself. 

So when the only thing he ever owned was ripped mercilessly from his feeble grasp, Stephen Strange only wished that he had died there and then. 

The Black Order had cast a blinding spell that rendered him sightless and the magic-suppressing restraints currently squeezing his fragile wrists was like a horrific reminder of how things had _gone to shit so damn quickly._ He still could feel the energy laying dormant, locked behind the sigil-engraved metal, useless to help him. The Cloak had been snatched away from him in the very moment where Stephen had entered. This time, he was truly and hopelessly alone. 

Nevertheless, if this was how it was all going to end, Stephen would go out fighting tooth and nail, defiant till the very end.

“Hear me and rejoice! You have had the privilege of being saved by our great God, The Titan.” A scaly voice of his nightmares rang out from behind Stephen and grafted all his nerves raw. A hiss of pain left him as he was forced heavily onto his knees in an executional stance, heavy hands pressing down on his shoulders, holding him firmly in place. The cold marble floor seeped into the Sorcerer's bones and sent a shiver of dread down his spine. 

The proclamation continued, undeterred. “You may think this is suffering, no. It is salvation.”

“With your great sacrifice and contribution, We can finally tip the universal scales and the war in our balance.” 

Stephen knew instinctively what kind of contribution he had to bestold onto The Black Order and at once his mind was stricken with raw fear and he had started writhing violently in a desperate attempt to _escape_. 

They could rip his heart out, impale his head on a stake but _please not his magic, anything but his magic._

A sharp sizzling buzz of tainted power crackled in the air. In that moment, the dark magic seized his muscles and paralyzed his limbs, rendering Stephen completely immobile from the neck down. But he would not lay on his stomach and die nor will he grovel and beg like a dog. Trembling slightly, the Sorcerer raised his head brazenly, sightless eyes gazing forward where he imagined The Titan stood. In spite of his surging willpower to live, Stephen knew he would not survive the process. His innate magic was tied to his very life-force which nestled deep within his soul. Stephen could still go about his life uncomfortably with it suppressed but if it was fully assimilated...

The concept of extracting magic from another mystic had never once dawned on him. Stephen didn’t think it was even plausible. But alas, _it was_ and now it was too late to talk himself out of this. It was too late to do anything.

“My humble personage bows before Your grandeur,” His captor’s voice announced in preparation to offer him up like a sacrificial lamb to the fire. 

“I present to you the _Keeper of Time_.” 

The ground quivered as the unmistakable footsteps of the God thundered forward. Without warning, blunt fingers wrapped around Stephen’s neck and plucked him up effortlessly from the cold metal floor as if he was a mere insect. Blindsided, a strangled wheeze of surprise left his lungs and the Sorcerer felt his stomach plummet with the feeling of being suspended helplessly in mid-air. 

“It will hurt less if were to just give It willingly, boy.” 

Engulfed in a wave of true terror, limbs frozen and feeling alien fingers steadily tightening around his throat, Stephen could do nothing but heaved with strained breaths, weakly struggling to find some solace.

Dimly, Stephen felt another monstrous hand pressed against the left of his chest. Nails scraping against his left clavicle, The Titan laid His palm squarely above the Sorcerer’s pounding heart. 

“Last chance.” The God rumbled lowly as if He could make Stephen change his mind and save him a whole life of pain. His voice was cruelly gentle, like a whisper in the wind and a taunt of the tongue. 

_Never._

With a twisted snarl, the Sorcerer clutched onto his magic swirling furiously in his veins with a desperate proverbial fist. _He would die before he gave it up_. Summoning the last remaining strength he had, Stephen spat out venomously in his final act of defiance. 

“G-Go... _fuck_ yourself.” 

Years ago, when he was fleeing from his old garrison, Stephen had been ambushed by a pack of Humans. The Sorcerer remembered it clear as day. There were five of them, all on stallions, decked in armor and brandishing weapons. 

Though he was weak from hunger and exhausted from running, Stephen was bristling with magic and was not one who ran from a fight. He was also meaning to experiment with his new Ability and what better targets to focus his power on than his greatest enemy themselves. Despite the overwhelming odds, Stephen held his ground and threw spell after spell and pulled up his defenses, readying himself to use his trump card before his enemies could get him to exhaust his magic.

But Humans fought dirty. That was for sure. They had no honor in battle and would do all it took to defeat their foes. As if he wasn’t already terribly outnumbered, the Sorcerer had thought Man would come off their literal high-horses and fight him on equal ground. That oversight was Stephen’s terrible downfall. During mid-fight, the leader of the company unexpectedly jumped back onto a stallion and yanked on the reigns of his horse. Without even a shout of command for the others to step aside, he surged forward, disregarding his own men who were knocked aside and _charged-_

Stephen took the brunt of the impact. His vulnerable outstretched hands although encased with pulsing energy, did not stand a single chance against the tremendous force of Human nature. 

Through the veil of horrendous pain, he somehow managed to channel his Ability to freeze his foe in their tracks and it gave himself a minute of head-start to retreat. Stephen still had considered himself extremely lucky that he had enough remaining energy at that time to heal his shattered bones and heavy wounds before the injury became cripplingly irreversible. However, there was nothing he could do about the damaged nerves, they were too far gone for even magic to undo the damage. Now they were wrecked in tremors and the dull chronic pain that radiated occasionally from the tips of his fingers to the middle of his palms and the back of his hands was a reminder to never again attempt such an impossible feat.

Unless it was a sole human, a lone Sorcerer was no match for an army of men.

But the torment of his hands being crushed under steel, iron and a thousand pound stallion drowned miserably in comparison to _this._

Nothing in his twenty-seven years of living could prepare Stephen from the onslaught of agony that engulfed his very being when The Titan plunged His left fist deep into his very soul, shredding through the tendrils of rippling energy and _pulled_.

Raw pulsating power tore through his body without a fragment of mercy. _Pain_. It shredded the edges of his soul and engulfed his very sanity. Every bone, every nerve, every cell was ignited with the force of a thousand suns. 

The roar of electrifying power surged through the throne room, streams of explosive gold morphed into the striking tint of emerald as it was slowly vacuumed from one soul to another. Distantly, Stephen could hear some poor bastard screaming amid the raging storm of chaos. It was brimming with anguish and piercing torment, the very sound itself ripping throughout the walls of the room, overthrowing the hum of magic howling above like the echo of a crying spirit.

Lost in the senseless haze of vicious torture, agonizing fire and devastation, Stephen realized faintly that the poor bastard was him. 

Then as quickly as it started, it was all over. What was just mere minutes felt like a lifetime for him. 

Stephen was unceremoniously released, promptly tossed aside like a broken toy. His body crumbled like a pile of cards and the Sorcerer could do nothing but lay feebly on cold marble floor, blind and trembling. _Dying._

Violent tremors wracked through his fading inert form and the brutal aftershocks of deviant energy that was not his own coursed through his veins, crackling and burning.

The last fleeting voice that whispered in his head as Stephen felt himself fading back into the welcoming darkness was familiar and haunting, foreshadowing a lifetime of future agony. 

“Welcome to your fate Keeper. You only _wished_ you were dead.”

* * *

_Memories were a fickle thing. Every experience, every flashback were all stored in the mind. So if he concentrated hard enough he could recall and view a glimpse of the different steps in which life had carried him through and on towards his destiny in the sea of fate._

_Magic greeted him on his third birthday. It was ever life-giving and gentle. Benevolent and kind._

_“That’s it Son! Feel the natural energy in you. Let it guide you. In time, you will learn to harness the power you have in you. Do not run from it.”_

_“This is The Cloak of Levitation, a relic from the ancients. Let it protect you from your foes.”_

_But the darkness of Humanity swarmed through and he was vulnerable to their sharp weapons and malevolent souls._

_“Stay in the light Stephen. Protect your siblings. Defend those whom you love. Man wants nothing but our downfall.”_

_“They fear what they do not understand and would not hesitate to drag us into the shadows of damnation where there will be nothing but death and pain.”_

_“Stay in the light.”_

_Then the first experience of devastation tore through his life and left an unimaginable chasm engraved into his heart like a scar. It would be the first in the endless line of future anguish._

_“How could you just stand there while she drowned and do nothing! She’s dead and it’s all your fault!”_

_“I’m sorry. Her illness is too severe. You should gather her sons and prepare them for the inevitable.”_

_“Father died with your name on his lips. Why weren’t you there Stephen.”_

_“Where were you when I needed you the mos-”_

_In a flash, there was nothing left of his family and death was lost behind in the land of dust and grief. The image of his childhood home morphed into a new temporary safe haven of sanctuary and magic._

_“Welcome to our Garrison. We hope your journey here was met with nothing by peace.”_

_“Thank you for healing my daughter. You truly have remarkable skills doctor.”_

_“The Humans are coming! We got to go now Strange!”_

_“RUN!”_

_Destruction tore through the world. Man surging through the cracks in their shredded defense and ripped apart Sorcerer after Sorcerer. Both Children and Women alike in their mad attempt to cull the supernatural._

_An oath was sworn. Do no harm. The mantra in his brain however could not prevent him from jumping in front of a child and raising his hands in defence._

_The feeling of something lying dormant deep in his very soul came surging out like a flame in a wildfire. It was as if something had been unlocked within him. Bands of emerald sprouted, encircling his wrist and swirling around his arm. Energy foriegn yet as natural as a breath of air. Comforting, warm and innate._

_Everyone within a six yard radius lay frozen in the very essence of time itself._

_“Strange are you alright? Strange why- you are... the energy-Your magic!”_

_“What’s happening to you? What have you done!”_

_“You can manipulate time! How is this possible? W-what are you?”_

_“Your magic is tainted! This garrison only accepts pure-bloods. We will welcome you no longer.”_

_Yet again he was cast out back into the wild. Carrying in him deviant energy that no one dared come near, that no one understood- least even himself. Abandoned by the very people who were called to be just like him. Time phased yet again into a sea of suffering._

_“An abomination!”_

_“Take out the hands!”_

_“Don’t let it escape!”_

_“Kill it before it kills us!”_

_A whirlpool of magic, violence and pain. The whispers of the silent forest and the sound of paralyzed time mocked his failures. He was not strong enough. He couldn’t save his family, he couldn’t save his people and he could not defend against his foe._

_How could he stay in the light when even the shadows clipped at his heels?_

_Alas, they all faded once more and the final memory resurfaced. A folly of his part in the midst of loss and desperation that would essentially cripple him forever._

_“You are tainted you say. Show me your power."_

_"Impressive! You indeed carry the bands of Time. It is only unique to you alone."_

_"Do not be afraid, The Titan accepts all. He does not discriminate like the Humans and other Sorcerers do.”_

_“We have others like you. They are called the Keepers. They all have tainted Abilities like you.”_

_“Come with us. The Black Order will take care of you Strange.”_

_“We will take good care of you…”_

* * *

A lone warden made his way through the curving network of the labyrinth, the Throne Room being his ultimate destination. He was the chief guard of the Black Order. A position he had earned but despised with his heart. But in The Titan’s Stronghold, one could not afford to be selfless and empathetic. That was unfortunately what it took to survive around here. 

The steel gunmetal-grey doors opened and the warden had to take a step back at the backlash of raw electrified energy and heavy static residue. He inhaled sharply, dismay wrapping around his heart. Some unfortunate soul had recently been here recently as a victim to feed the God’s ravenous appetite for magic. Being a low-leveled Sorcerer, the warden was lucky enough to be spared from such torture. Why feast on the weak when there was more power from the strong. This way you can have control over every soul.

However it also meant that he was powerless to do anything about the rather bleak situation. 

Hastily, the warden shielded his thoughts from prying tendrils of magic as he neared the front of the long corridor leading to the Throne. The Titan had claimed the Ability to read minds not too long ago. It would do him no good to put his opinions on his sleeve at this stage. 

Just in time as well.

 _“..._ and send out scouts to the next village. Bring it to the ground. Do not stop till the final Ability is found.”

“I _will_ find the Soul Keeper if it means half the world burn.”

Dread filled the warden’s lungs like a wave of suffocating water. He had never realized how far The Titan had come in his mad conquest for power.

“My Liege, if I may.” The slimy voice of Maw curled the warden’s lip into a sneer. 

“The Humans grow stronger. They stand firm. They are unruly, and therefore cannot be ruled. To challenge them so soon again is to court... Death.”

A grating coarse sound reverberated through the room, alike to nails on a chalkboard. The chief guard cringed as he realized the God was laughing.

“I have the greatest element on my side. What do I have to fear.”

In the beginning as they were slowly being slaughtered by Man, when a Titan with a God complex came up with a plan to eradicate half of their enemies, the weakened garrison welcomed his cause with open arms. Bitterly, the guard remembered the times where Sorcerers used to defend the natural law. Tampering with the order it was almost unheard of. Now… it was a means to an end.

“Sire, the Timekeeper is strong. Unlike the others he has strength to him, a repulsive defiance unlike any I have ever encountered.”

“Perhaps it was a mistake to let him go so soon...”

The words of the Black Order came to a pause as the warden made himself known and stepped out of the shadows. Casting his eyes downwards, he dropped to a knee and bowed his head in submission. Swallowing back fear as four sets of eyes stared back coldly, he spoke at the feet of the God. 

“Lord Titan. You beckoned.” 

A round orb was tossed carelessly onto the ground, the containment resting at the foot of the stairs leading to the throne. 

“Dispose of the relic. Then bring the Timekeeper to me.” 

_By the Vishanti._ He had managed to get His hands on Time too? That poor Sorcerer he had just locked up in the dungeon was a Keeper? 

Keeping his eyes low and his mind silent, the warden nodded stiffly and rose. With a heavy heart, he took his leave ignoring the glowing sentience trapped within the containment pulsating in his palm. 

This was not the first time he had destroyed a relic under orders. 

But perhaps it was the dread curling itself in his soul, his abused conscience who whispered tirelessly to him or the realization of the meek fate of the Sorcerers here once The Titan had gotten all six Abilities; because a wild idea sparked within him, the lunacy of liberation murmuring boldly and demanding his attention.

Maybe there was still time to stop this madness.

Wong just hoped he was not too late. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Stephen. He can’t seem to catch a break can he? This chapter was a crazy amount of pages so I decided to cut it into two parts in fear of causing indigestion and too much heart pain. 
> 
> Also, I just thought to share a quick story. I am in an Ironstrange Discord channel and some days ago there was this racist that told me that Asians can’t write for shit. I’m going to be honest, I flipped a little due to said fact that I am indeed an Asian. But the bitter irony is that the theme of this very fic is indeed discrimination and all. Haters will hate I guess. Lol.
> 
> Stay in the light!


	6. The Fate of Injustice: Part 2

_“You don't have to be ruled by fate. You can choose freedom, and I still believe that that's something worth fighting for.”_ _  
_

_-Castiel, Supernatural_

* * *

_Stay in the light_

_An abomination!_

_PainPainPain_

_You only wished you were dea-_

A startled cry of desperation ripped from his throat and Stephen jerked up in a flash of hazy memories and panicked-induced torment. The foreign touch in his mind whisking away in a flash of warmth and scarlet. 

“You’re alright now. It’s over.” A soft feminine voice sounded distantly somewhere on his left but Stephen could not bring himself to take notice of it.

_He wasn’t dead. How was it possible?_

Trembling, the Sorcerer raised his shackled hands to his throbbing chest as the memory of _magic savagely tearing out of him_ and _dying on cold marble_ came rushing back ruthlessly all at once. With a jolt of haunting terror, Stephen could feel tendrils of leftover deviant energy clinging to his soul, sending aching pulses through his body with every beat of his heart. Even though the doctor in him knew it was only psychosomatic, the phantom pain that bound his muscles and rushed through his veins felt very _very_ real.

It didn’t help that the lingering aftershocks of being exposed to such a great amount of energy and the feeling of great _loss_ had reduced him to a feeble mess of quivering limbs. 

He then managed to identify the source of the frigid cold that had seemed to engulf his entire body. Gone was the familiar strum of warmth swirling through his veins, it was reduced to weak strands of listless energy, almost non-existent under the magic-suppressing cuffs that was still encircling his wrists. Lethargy clinging onto his soul like a leech Stephen was finally made aware that he had almost been sucked dry of his magic. 

“You should have just given it willing, it would have saved you a lifetime of pain stranger.”

A full body flinch seized him from his thoughts at another voice resounded from within the same area Stephen was in. Half hidden in the shadows was a young lady with auburn hair and ivy green eyes. Judging by her tattered burgundy leather-like robes, the rough bags under her eyes and her bound hands, it was safe to say she was probably stuck in the same predicament as Stephen as well. 

The Sorcerer scanned his surroundings for the first time since he regained consciousness. It was a windowless ten by ten feet room. The only exit was obscured by a barrier of gold sizzling energy. A hiss of defeat left him as he realized he was probably deep in The Order’s stronghold dungeons. With no one else to seek, Stephen turned to his fellow captive.

“W-What happened…” 

“You were out for almost half a day.” The girl replied smoothly, not breaking eye contact. “The guards finally released the shield confinement and sent me to do my job and check if you were still breathing.”

Wonderful, she was probably a Sorceress as well, a high-powered one too seeing that the sigils carved on her bounds mirrored his own. Then a burning question came to mind.

“Are you like me?” Stephen wracked his tired brain for the term The Order had used. “A Keeper... of some sort of Ability outside the normal spectrum of magic?” 

The Sorceress sniffed a little, seemingly amused by Stephen’s bland ignorance. “Well I can read minds and manipulate your thoughts.” 

“Putting it simply, yes, I am the Keeper of the Mind.” 

Stephen frowned and unconsciously shuffled himself up closer against the stone walls of the dungeon. So that was why he had a sudden influx of images of his past tossed about in his head like an uncontrollable storm. The Sorcerer clenched his bound fists as the painful memories he had tried so hard to suppress rose steadily to the surface of his mind like a breath of fresh air.

Picking up his obvious discomfort, the girl spoke out again, a hint of regret tangible in her voice. “I’m sorry I had to invade your head like that. It was the only way of bringing you back to reality. It’s dangerous to get lost in your mind like that especially after the first brutal session.” 

Shaking himself firmly, Stephen dismissed the apology. It was better to be clear headed than trapped in limbo between reality and nightmare. An uneasy silence settled in the damp cell but it was broken when the Sorceress asked thoughtfully.

“You’re the Timekeeper aren’t you?” At the Sorcerer’s jerk of surprise which definitely _did not_ give him away, his companion quickly clarified in answer.

“It was between that or the Ability of the Soul. And judging by your familiarity with magic you certainly are a hundred percent Sorcerer.” 

“Pardon me?” 

Stephen was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that _he was not the only one_ and struggled to keep up with the current conversation that appeared to be endlessly sprouting information so unheard off. 

“It’s rumored that the Soul Keeper has a mixed Human-Sorcerer heritage. That’s frankly the only reason why The Order is so obsessed with Man and their downfall.” 

_By the Vishanti_ … Allowing his head to rest on stone behind him, Stephen wondered how this entire war between Man and Magic suddenly became spectrums of such grey. Who were they really fighting at this point? 

“H-How did this all manage to get so... corrupt, so out of control?” 

_How did it manage to get so woefully fucked up?_

“Someone once told me that our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict.” The Sorceress inhaled sharply, staring down at her bound hands and weak tendrils of scarlet that danced nimbly along her fingertips, “And conflict… Conflict breeds catastrophe.” 

A sad smile curved onto her lips before the Sorceress concluded with piercing words. 

“Because everyone fears power greater than their own - including our own kind.”

Bitterness wrapped around Stephen’s heart at the truth of his fellow magic-user’s words. It did not go unnoticed that she indeed was like him. From where he was, Stephen could feel familiar yet uniquely different energy surging behind the Sorceress’ cuffs and see the flickering red that glowed within the palms of her hands where it should have been gold. It wasn’t the case of verifying the truthfulness behind her words but after years of being shunned, attacked and betrayed, Stephen had learnt to trust less and believe few.

Maybe if he had picked up those life skills earlier he might not be neck-deep in this wretched mess.

“At least we are allowed to regenerate and heal to a certain extent.” Stephen huffed in resignation at her false words of optimism, the magic suppressing restraints tightening around his wrists as on cue. At least they were in front of him this time. Remaining steadfast in spite of his bleak stance, the Sorceress did not falter.

“There are some others who are not so lucky.”

“What do you mean?” _What could possibly be worse than this?_

“There are other people like us who are Keeper of different Abilities. The Titan has three more of such Sorcerers here as well last I heard.” 

So The Black Order did speak some truth then. There were indeed more magic-users like him held imprisoned here. Curiosity rearing its ugly head, Stephen beckon the Mind Keeper to keep going. In hindsight, it was a big mistake really. 

“The first Sorceress was put in a coma when too much of her magic was torn from her and He started to assimilate her own innate life-force. The Titan snapped the neck of another when he tried to pull a concealed knife on Him...” 

The phantom touch of cold, cruel hands curling around his jugular and sucking the most intimate part out of him crawled its way back into his heart. Stephen squeezed his eyes shut, shuddering and feeling nauseous as he struggled to swallow down the bile rising up his throat.

Wrestling the memory and banishing it to the back of his head, Stephen focused on the steady words streaming from the Sorceress’ mouth, grounding him back into reality.

“-rumored that the last one had never seen the light of day and has been stuck in a maximum energy containment ever since his Ability was recovered.” 

“What was his power?” The Sorcerer forced out, willing himself to keep the conversation going.

“Well that’s his Ability. It’s Power. Raw untamable Power.” 

The sick feeling in Stephen’s stomach returned twice-fold as his mind ran rampant on the sheer amount of torture the poor guy must be going through this very instant. 

"The combination of all the powers from the Keepers and other Sorcerers He had claimed for his own would then morph into a deviant shade of obsidian where He shares amongst his four footmen."

"Its a desecration of our very essence, the real tainted black magic. Created from brutality and force."

“Alas, we are better alive than dead to The Titan.” She offered as a rather weak consolation. “He is merciful enough to take only half of our magic. He believes in balance and thus is intolerant to betrayal.” 

The supposed comforting words were having an opposite effect on the Sorcerer. 

If the horrific torment his body and soul had experienced was merely part of his magic getting extracted, Stephen could not even start to fathom what total assimilation would feel like. 

The Sorceress probably had long been desensitized to the atrocities of life around her because she carried on tersely without missing a beat or sugarcoating the brutal events of reality. 

“Humans on the other hand… they take everything you have. They will stretch you out for hours on end and relentlessly suck you dry till you’re nothing but a shriveled husk. All of them die in the end, Humans take no prisoners.” 

“How do you think they manage to counter our moves and take our kind down so easily? If you ever have the misfortune of meeting one either run as far as you can in the other direction or give in and surrender in great haste.” 

“Maybe if you’re lucky, they’ll be merciful and quick.” 

The image of Man viciously tearing him apart and scavenging his dying body for every drop of energy he could offer shook Stephen right to his very core. He had barely survived his encounter with a pack of them. If they had decided to swing around and absorb his magic there and then on that fateful day...

_It was all too much. Too much information to process. He couldn’t take much more of this._

With a self-deprecating warped sense of resignation, Stephen decided that he would rather be dead this very instant then continue on down the road of suffering and death.

From the other side of the room, the Sorceress gazed at him with regretful eyes the color of Stephen’s magic and the Keeper of Time realized with a sudden pang that he had spoken his thoughts out loud. A deep sense of sorrow filled her trembling voice and Stephen’s heart twisted at her next words.

“Don’t you think I haven’t tried?”

“We’re stuck here stranger. You and I. This is how it will be for all who are kept under The Black Order.” 

Once again, the cell was plunged into a rough tense silence. Neither magic-user willing to converse, both lost in their own demented perceptions of the fate of their kind. 

Somewhere outside the magical barricade keeping them in, Stephen could make out the echoing of metal against marble and heavy boots pattering against the ground. Distantly, it sounded like it was coming nearer and nearer.

A look of devastation from the Sorceress ignited a fresh wave of terror that paralyzed him. Belatedly, the Keeper of Time knew what she was going to say before it even came out of her mouth.

“Those are the guards. They’re coming back for round two.” 

* * *

It was like a horrible recurring nightmare and he was stuck in an infinite time loop of suffering, deem to experience death over and over again for the rest of eternity. Stephen just wanted to wake up from the inky blackness that had once again taken over his sight and rip out the fatal thoughts clawing at his brain. 

A single strike to the cheek and a fist to his solar plexus left him breathless and nauseous and it was not difficult to wrangle the chains and force his wrists behind his back yet again when a man was already powerless and down.

“He will be expecting the Time Keeper. I’ll take it from here.” 

Someone kicked the back of his knees causing the bound Sorcerer to crashed forward unceremoniously. The cool metal of the floor pressing against his aching face gave him temporary relief. Groaning from his place on the ground, Stephen heard the voice of a new warden barking words of command, signaling an exchange. Try as he might, Stephen’s batted body could not withstand anymore abuse and his feeble attempts to struggle could be compared to a kitten batting its paw in weak retaliation.

“Yes Chief.” 

So Stephen let himself drift helplessly as new hands gripped his upper arm and forced him up to his unsteady feet and forward towards his demise. 

The new guard, no different from the rest, dragged Stephen down into one of the dark empty corridors and suddenly shoved him to the floor. A grunt of pain left him as he found himself sprawling forward once more, not expecting the sudden change in direction. Stephen twisted his body in the last minute to prevent him from falling onto his face again and coiled his body to the side before his beaten body struck the ground again. 

_Fucking wardens._ If he was at full power they wouldn’t be using him as a goddamn punching bag. Stephen had never felt so much hate towards his kind before. A bunch of filthy cowards they were, bowing blindly to authority and treating their fellow Sorcerer with such violent disdain because The Order told them to. 

His vision still shrouded in darkness, Stephen tried to reorientate himself in some semblance of order but could not help the terrified cry of shock when a hand clamped over his face. Rearing up, Stephen buckled weakly trying to shake of the smothering grasp unable to see what the guard was going to do next.

But his captor seized his bound wrists that was behind his back and trapped him in a sturdy headlock, painfully pressing against the raw bruises The Titan left on his skin not long ago. With an irate hiss, Stephen heard the guard growl lowly into his ear.

“Stop struggling for a moment and listen to me!” 

_Oh hell no!_ Weak as he was, Stephen was going to fight them desperately till the end. They would have to drag him to the throne room kicking and screaming. _Because_ _he couldn’t do that again. He couldn’t take it. Vishanti help him, please don’t send him back there-_

“Goddamit Keeper! I’m going to help you _escape_ you moron.”

 _That_ caused Stephen to freeze in his tracks. Straining against the thick arm pressing against his throat, the bound Sorcerer was unable to believe his very ears. Had he hit his head on the ground one too many times? Not trusting his captors words, Stephen shook his head firmly, unwilling to give himself false hope.

“I’m a friendly. My name is Wong.” The same rough voice continued. Breathing heavily through his nose, Stephen remained silent, not wanting to break the moment of impossibility.

“Hold still and don’t move, I’m going to undo the blinding spell.” 

The pressure against his neck left and was replaced by calloused hands pressing over his sightless eyes. A soft muttering of words filled the air and heat washed over Stephen’s face. There was a slight wave of discomfort like a pinch to his cornea but it seemed to have done the trick because the darkness of his vision dissolved back into color. 

Stephen found himself on his knees blinking dazedly back at his savior. Slightly shorter than he was and donning a traditional buzz-cut, Wong was dressed in a set of brown-maroon robes and carried the insignia stripes of ‘Chief Guard’ which was emblazoned on his sturdy shoulders. Also, it looked like he was devoid of any emotions if the blank look tossed Stephen’s way was saying anything. 

As if Wong had not just restored his sight and was aiding in an escape attempt, his fellow Sorcerer ignored Stephen’s every attempt to speak before continuing with a growing sense of urgency. 

“Listen, the essence of your Ability is one of the last keys to complete The Titan’s mission of rage armageddon onto half of the world. Both Human and Sorcerer alike wouldn’t even know it had happened until it is already done.” 

“But He has come to a realization that all the Abilities in the world would not matter if Time could be manipulated and worked against him to undo everything.”

Amongst the surge of information being unexpectedly disclosed to him, the final sentence was the one that successfully jolted Stephen out of his initial shock and at last, he found his voice.

“I-I can turn _back_ Time!?” 

“Be quiet!” The guard’s hand clamped onto Stephen’s mouth to muffle his exclamation of surprise that came out unconsciously. “That’s not the goddamn point Keeper.” 

“The Titian is going to kill you today so no one else can harness the bands of Time.” 

_Well shit._ Stephen probably should have been surprised and maybe frightened but at this point in which everything was all rapidly moving in volatile directions that was startlingly unpredictable, all he felt was weary acceptance. _Why couldn’t life just give him a break._

“I can’t stand around and watch while the world falls around me any longer.” The warden had said as he grabbed the Time keeper’s wrists and laid his hand on the silver engraved cuffs. Within seconds, the golden sigils sizzled and suddenly Stephen was free.

Wong then proceeded to shove a sling-ring into his limp hands and plucked a clear containment orb from thin air. In spite of the threat upon his life, Stephen felt an immediate rush of joy and relief, something he had not felt since he had been caught.

Pulsating wildly inside the spell-encased containment was The Cloak of Levitation. 

“Here, I know it belongs to you.” Wong uttered a few quick words in sanskrit and in a flash the crimson relic was freed as well. It wrapped around Stephen’s wrist in a bittersweet reunion and proceeded to take its place on his shoulders like it should have been all along. The comforting weight behind him seemed to replenish strength Stephen didn’t even know he had lost, and for the first time in a long time, a small cluster of hope bloomed in his stomach.

“Hit me!” 

“What?”

“Hit me with a crippling spell quick!” Wong hissed as he darted his head around to make sure the area was still clear. “This have to look like you overpowered me in a legitimate successful escape attempt.” 

Stephen stared back dumbfounded, still struggling to process how light he felt, the familiar warm returning of his delicate magic and the taste of freedom that was just a heartbeat away. Pulling himself together quickly, the Sorcerer tried to search for another word of confirmation.

“Are you certain?” 

The warden's stoic features slipped for a second but Wong nodded firmly despite the knowing look of impending dread in his eyes; both Sorcerers plagued with the knowledge that the consequence of this ultimate betrayal would be inevitably fatal. 

“Stay in the light stranger. Good luck.”

Momentarily, Stephen was struck with the realization that there was still a shred of kindness in his apathetic world of corruption and fire. Oh how he wished for a greater sense of morality in his kind!

With an apologetic whisper on his tongue, Stephen pulled at the weaken tendrils of his magic and pressed two fingers onto the guard’s forehead. Wong’s knees buckled immediately and his eyes rolled up into his head. The Cloak caught the unconscious Sorcerer and gently laid him in a slumped position before slipping back onto Stephen’s shoulders shaking the now freed man out of his stupor. 

_We are running out time Strange._ The sentient piece of outerwear seemed to say as its collar smacked Stephen’s face and forced his stunned body into action. 

And not a moment too soon as well. There was a loud slamming of iron-gates and a roar of surprise as Stephen rushed out of the steps of the dungeons, throwing up shields and reflecting weapons when the rest of the order caught sight of his fleeing attempt. 

“The Keeper has broke free! Capture him now!” 

His magic was depleting dangerously. It was now or never.

Jamming the rust-colored sling-ring onto his fingers, Stephen channeled all remaining energy he had to open a portal even with no destination in mind. It was dangerous but with guards pouring out from every corner and the swirl of magic surging all over the place, Stephen could not focus on anything else other than _escape_. 

“After him!” 

In the chaos of battle cries and the rush of charging energy, a circle of magic was conjured nine feet away. The Keeper of Time darted frantically towards the gate of freedom, mustering all the strength in his aching body to his legs, imploring them to go faster, _go faster!_

_Six feet._

“Don’t let him get away!”

_Three feet._

A blast of _something_ exploded beside the fleeing Sorcerer, showering him with dust and gravel. For a precious second, Stephen stumbled and almost collapsed onto his side, but The Cloak gave his battered body the last push he needed-

A tingle of magic bathed his skin and a gust of fresh air whooshed against his face as his palms hit grass and dirt. Ignoring the stinging pain surging through mistreated fingers, Stephen spun around quickly to cover his exit.

With a clench of his fist, the golden doorway dissolved into sparks of excess light and the Sorcerer collapsed onto his back, eyes meeting nothing but the twinkling stars against the darkened sky and a gentle breeze like a welcoming embrace. 

Gasping meekly, hands trembling and feeling the rapid beating of his heart roaring in his ears, Stephen took a moment to gather his wits and catch his breath. Gone was the marble floors and stone walls. The soft grass beneath him was cool and calming, grounding him in reality. The silence of the forest like music to his ears, heavenly and surreal.

Tears pricked his eyes and Stephen’s vision blurred with the raw emotion of pure and utter relief. He was free from bondage. Free from The Titan. 

_He had finally escaped._

However, liberation could not be celebrated just yet. Not that he knew where he was, Stephen knew he had to get out of the area fast. The residue of magic he had just produced could be tracked with spells and The Black Order was undoubtedly going to send out all the Sorcerers in the garrison to hunt him down- no matter the cause. 

It looked like he was going to have to run again. The Sorcerer picked himself up with a new surge of resolve, determined to put as much distance between himself and The Order.

The trees stretched out endlessly in all directions. Nature not providing him with any answers. But fate prowled behind him like an unshakable shadow and Stephen was doomed to fall once more.

Because as Stephen leapt over a fallen log, heading onwards towards the treeline where the forest started thinning, an ominous click of metal at his feet rang out through the clearing. There was a split second where the Sorcerer’s eyes met a pressure plate before the earth dipped from under him and his world was tossed into a chasm. His head struck rock sending Stephen’s vision into a fritz of white. Pain erupted from his ribs and it only got worse as his left hand was crushed under the weight of his body, pinned down by a hundred pounds of something lying on his back. The Cloak writhed and twisted to get itself out of yet another confinement but it only sent stabs of agony down his side as the relic jostled every single one of Stephen’s injuries making them all known. Overwhelmed, Stephen managed to rasp out a hoarse whimper before the sentient cloak settled down apologetically. 

It was only when Stephen felt the scarlet collar brush gently against his cheeks and tasted the tang of salt dripping onto the earth did he realize that he was crying. Bitter tears streamed from his face from the various aches and torment his body had been pounded with but stemming also from the cruelty of allowing himself to _believe_ that something good could happen to him for once. The last of his adrenaline oozing out of his body and together with it his hope of true freedom. 

Funny how this was how he was to go out. Not assimilated by The Titan, not slain by the enemy but by his own tired folly - a victim of a simple Human trap. 

His escape attempt has indeed pushed him to his limit and as the last few days started to catch up with him, Stephen felt the last remanence of his magic threshold expire. If he had any more energy to summon in his depleted, exhausted state, maybe _just maybe_ Stephen could get free. But he was just so, _so_ tired. Physically, emotionally and magically he was drained right to the very core. 

Stephen was tired of struggling, of running. It was endless. He never seemed to be able to out run his fate of suffering and misery even with the very essence of time by his side. 

Maybe if he gave in to the pain he could slip away into the welcoming abyss.

Maybe if he closed his eyes he could see his family again.

Maybe if he laid still he could finally rest. 

_Why couldn’t life just give him a break?_

* * *

_Moments later, unknown to him at the time, The Black Order would indeed send Sorcerers to hunt their wayward Keeper down but they would be thwarted by a pack of Humans led by their heroic blond Captain._

_A lone human would stumble upon the snare and unexpectedly grant freedom to the foe. The bands of Time would fail to defend and magic would bounce back onto the earth in his weakness._

_There would be more pain, more running, more hiding but this time there was compassion. A tiny flicker of change, a thirst of promise and a spark of fleeting hope under a violent, defensive facade. One that would unimaginably come from a Human blacksmith and his apprentice which would, in time, alter his fate and save Stephen Strange from himself._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arc 1 Complete.
> 
> Cookies to whoever can name the other Keepers in the chapter and what their Abilities are! 
> 
> Also the long-awaited _proper_ and _civil_ meeting between our favorite boys will finally commence next week! I know you patient people have been waiting forever for that!


	7. Gradients of Grey

**ARC TWO**

_“In seeking truth you have to get both sides of the story.”_

_― Walter Cronkite_

* * *

“Here’s the new medkit you ordered.” Tony jerked his head up as the town’s doctor entered _The Forge_ , a brown medicine bag grasp in Bruce Banner’s steady hands. 

“Though I see that you are in the pink of health?” 

“Ehh you know me,” The blacksmith shrugged feigning nonchalance. “With Peter running around underfoot here more often than not, someone would eventually get hurt.” Said apprentice who was working on an upgrade nearby snorted, albeit good-naturedly at the passing statement. 

“I just want to be prepared y’know. In case of any emergencies that is non-fatal enough not to garner a trip to your medicine den.” Tony retorted, ignoring Peter and returning his attention to the doctor. Bruce stared back nonplussed at the offense to his clinic but relented in the end as he dropped the medkit on the counter next to an anvil. 

“Fine. Only because I know you have zero sense of self-preservation.” Both mentor and apprentice nodded in union but for two _very_ different reasons. 

“But I better not see you wasting supplies Tony!” 

“Yes witch-doctor. Good day!” 

Tony pretended to be engrossed with a copper bar stabilizer that suddenly seemed really interesting as the doctor rolled his eyes fondly and proceeded to bid goodbye to Peter. It was only when Banner took his leave and when the sounds of his footsteps faded did Tony release a tense breath he did not know he was holding.

Leaning heavily onto his workbench, the blacksmith pressed his fingers to his temple and tried to figure out when his life had gotten so damn insane. God what a mess. 

_“It seems that the only reason why I’m still kept alive is because you are waiting for my energy to regenerate before taking my magic and Ability for yourselves in exchange.”_

The haunting words of yesterday rattled his bones and disturbed Tony greatly. It was like an unscratchable itch that laid under his skin and a nasty parasite that just could not be shaken. 

Somewhere amidst the decade long feud between Man and Magic, something had gone certifiably, awfully and horribly wrong. The satire was that this was still war, there would be casualties, there would be horror. But Tony, blinded by the years of hatred he carried in his heart against another kind, had utterly dehumanized them into mere _beings_. It was so easy to demean and eradicate when they all remained anonymous and lower-than-humans. 

_“Is that not what Man do to creatures like us in return?”_

The Sorcerer- Stephen Strange, he had put a face to the beings they had hunted. Suddenly everything was no longer just a wash of mere black and white.

It was like a slap in the face, a harsh wake-up call, almost like a breath of fresh air after battling against the currents of time. Tony felt like he had been drowning in a sea of animosity and resentment, his soul heavy with the accumulation of so much _angerhatedistruction_ that he was trapped underwater, unable to see anything other than the murky depths of the violent facade of war. When had the line between morality and depravity blur into a mere smudge on the earth. _What were they doing?_

The blacksmith was plunged back to the events of yesterday. The cavern cold with chilling words being exchanged. 

_“From the start. From your side.” With a firm hand around Peter, Tony had finally found his tongue and was currently demanding answers. Answers he desperately wanted._

_“Tell us what happened. Now.”_

_Stephen closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. For a moment as time went still, Tony wondered if the Sorcerer would remain mum. But his apprentice, God bless Peter’s soul, was bleeding with sympathy and empathy._

_The kid whispered a soft ‘Please. We just want to understand…’ and Tony swore at that very moment he indeed felt like the world’s biggest douchebag. God, after everything he had done now he was interrogating the man he was responsible for wounding just to calm his own spinning world._

_He had truly and royally fucked up._

_It seemed that not even the enemy was immune to Peter’s painful innocence. The air prickled with the electrifying rush of magic and in a blink of an eye, The Sorcerer had conjured five small blue vague-like creatures. Almost taking the shape of a moth of some sort, they fluttered to life from the base of his shaking palm and curled around the three like a gentle storm of the supernatural. Peter gasped awestruck but Tony flinched, uneasy._

_And then he begun._

_“For centuries the two lived in harmony, side by side. The Sorcerers and your kind.” Stephen gestured to Tony, a flash of unreadable emotions flitting across the magic-user’s face. “The Ordinary of humanity.”_

_“As the world developed and the golden age of globalization touched the earth, The Ordinary progressed and leapt forward. Their knowledged deepened and their eyes were opened to the ways of the world. They started to question the ways of the mystic arts. They could not understand the logic behind something that was impossible and illogical yet intimate and innate to us._

_And you people. You fear the unknown, cowering with malice at the very essence that makes us who we are. You judge us as wicked, our souls malevolent and brought it upon yourselves to take back control of the natural order. You attack and turn vicious when we remained a subject to be reckoned with. But despite the magic are we not flesh and blood and human as well?_

_“The norms of mankind forced our hands. Magic was never meant to be conjured into weapons or made into whips. It was everlife giving and gentle. Benevolent and kind.”_

_In an instant, the beauty and illusions shattered like glass. The cerulean shards crumbling into dust as it hit the cold limestone floor. Trails of magic flowed away from the impact crater and silence gripped the hearts of the three individuals in the coldness of the cave. Standing feet apart, worlds apart._

_“Now tell me Stark.” Stephen’s voice grew hard, the decades of injustice ripping at every fiber of his soul._

_“Who is the monster now?”_

It was definitely not the end of the story, that Tony figured once he had managed to collect his shit and promptly fled the cavern, taking with him Peter and his tumultuous perception of the world that had just made a major 180 degrees turnaround. He was still reeling from the fact that Strange was so ready to give up his magic in order to leave with his life. The Sorcerer was so certain that Man could take their power and even if they could, the thought of any human forcefully yanking out something that was so intimate, even from an enemy, made Tony’s stomach roll in disgust and revulsion. 

It wasn’t hard to put two and two together afterwards. Clearly there was a rather fucked up system working amongst the magic-users. Could it be that the reason why there were lesser and lesser magic-based attacks was due to the fact there was a mad alpha Sorcerer running around draining their powers one-by-one?

A part of Tony had thought _what if Strange was making it all up?_ Perhaps the Sorcerer was merely pulling on his ragged heartstrings in order to escape death and in due time would ready an army of mystics to rage destruction onto Genevra. But that thought was instantly banished when Tony heard the last shattering words from the Sorcerer that was left in his fleeing wake. 

_“When everything that you once owned has been stripped from you, there’s nothing you have left in this world but the truth.”_

Plagued with the knowledge he now had, Tony had started to question the decades of belief he had on these Sorcerers who were the supposed enemy. The black and whites of his world was slowly morphing into grey gradients of uncertainty. Who was actually right or wrong? 

Everything had gotten so fucking complicated and Tony had no idea what his next course of action should be.

“Sooooo… Mr Stark?” The voice of his apprentice pulled him out of the memory and Tony shifted away from his workbench, his chain of thought broken by Peter, yet again, bringing up the redacted topic.

“Are we going to talk abou-” 

“No.”

“You didn’t even wait for me to finish!” 

From the corner of his eye, the blacksmith caught sight of a disgruntled Peter crossing his arms around his chest at the curt interruption. Sighing for the umpteen time, Tony tried to find his non-existent zen and patience. 

“That’s because I know exactly what you are about to say Peter.”

“Are we not going to talk about the _actual_ witch-doctor-shaped elephant in the room?”

“There is clearly nothing to talk about!” 

Across the room, Peter huffed deadpanned before closing the gap between himself and his mentor. 

“C _learly_ the medkit is for _him_. Neither one of us are in need of medical treatment and you know it.” 

That boy was too observant for his liking. Peter was grounded. He was so damn grounded till he was at least fifty. 

“Will you keep your damn volume down.” Tony hissed through clenched teeth at the brazenness of Peter who did not seem to comprehend the severity of the situation. “Good Lord why not you open a window and announce to the whole of Genevra that _there’s a Sorcerer lying in a cave in our very backyard!”_

“I can’t believe you followed me. Fuck. You could have died!”

“Well, I can’t believe you were about to commit homicide!” 

Oof _. That_ hurt. 

He probably deserved it though.

Affronted, Tony took a deep breath, held it in for three seconds and exhaled, unwilling to lose it again in front of Peter who presently did not deserve anything that life was throwing at him. 

“How many times have I tried to tell you- I had no such intentions.” 

“Then you better bring me to see him today,” his apprentice concluded boldly, leveling Tony with a respectful yet unwavering gaze, “so I can sleep knowing my mentor had not decided to kill the enemy in cold blood.” 

“Damn kid, the trust you are radiating off right now is astounding.”

“Look. I know. I fucked up big time by following you and I am really, really sorry.” Peter sighed as he dropped his gaze contrite and scuffed his shoes on the dusty ground of _The Forge._

“But I just want to make sure he’s ok. Deep down, I know you do too.”

Heart clenching and fully exasperated, Tony was embarrassingly quick to relent. 

The kid truly would one day be the death of him.

* * *

_Ah shit, here we go again…_

With strict instructions to _stay behind him at all times dammit!_ the pair crept through the cavern and found themselves in a familiar clearing once more. This time, Tony came mentally prepared and armed with a different set of weapons. Also, he had made sure to force a sturdy harness onto his apprentice who had scored a negative between a scale of self-preservation and shaking Death’s hand. 

Deciding to announce their presence, Tony raised his voice pointedly towards the hollowness of the cavern where the Sorcerer had been 24 hours ago. Faintly, he could make out a familiar silhouette. 

“Strange? You there?” 

A familiar blur of red shot out of the dark and flared itself out in front of the shape protectively and the blacksmith took two hesitant steps back, hands raised placatingly. 

“Gosh, you are one loyal piece of outerwear. Look, look I came unarmed this time okay?” Tony gestured to his empty holders on his belt and pulled the covers of his tunic to the side revealing nothing concealed. “I am not going to hurt your-” 

The oversized cloth promptly surged past him, ignoring his attempts to coax it into neutral compliance much to the blacksmith’s confusion. Well, he figured it out a split-second later.

“Mr Stark! LOOK! T-This is a-amazing!!”

Tony’s soul literally ascended and almost left his body at the sight that greeted him.

Peter was shrouded by the thick fabric which seemed to wrap around the teen gently like an oversized windbreaker. The soft edge of the red cloth twitched animatedly, tickling Peter’s side and thus a wrestling match between teen and sentient cape commenced. Joyful laughter filled the cavern and the blacksmith found a smile curving unconsciously on his lips at how the cape was now possibly giving his apprentice the biggest bear hug known to man. 

It was almost sweet until Tony remembered the same piece of fabric had nearly strangled him to death in the forest that one time. How such a magical thing could be benevolent in a second and deadly in another was beyond him.

“Cloak, stand down. You are about to give the human an aneurysm.” 

The Sorcerer seemed to have melted out of the shadows as Stephen materialized out into the clearing. Sucking in a deep breath, the blacksmith closed the gap between them carefully. Blue glowing eyes tracked his every movement and Tony settled down gingerly, several yards away from the Sorcerer.

Skipping past any greeting, well any sort of greeting would just be absurd really, Tony immediately got down to business. 

“Well… I have passed on a message to a member of the council if there were any magical-absorbing thingys or other forces of power assimilation and we have nada.” 

Tony could not rest knowing that his people might have been using unorthodox ways in defeating their enemies. Against better judgement, he had seeked out Steve, who looked way too pleased at his personal arrival, with carefully placed questions- not that the Captain had picked out any of the cues though. 

Rogers was rather distracted by recounting his tales of tracking and leading his company of men into battle. Honestly, the blacksmith couldn’t care less about the blond’s attempts to show off but he really, really wanted answers. Half-heartedly, Tony slapped on a smile and decided to humor his long-time friend. 

He had known Steve ever since he had became a blacksmith but never really came down to forging an actual sturdy friendship outside of work. Maybe sometimes they went out for lunch during their breaks and maybe sometimes they would discuss work-related stuff during off hours.

But at the end of the day, Tony built the weapons and Rogers brought it to battle. It was as simple as that. He did care for the Captain, there was a reason why he had forged the shield for him but contrary to what the Trackers had been gossiping about, Tony had no interest in taking this relationship with Steve to another level. No doubt he was as straight as a cooked noodle but Steve just wasn’t his type. Not that Rogers knew of course. 

And so, after 3 hours of storytelling Tony finally managed to successfully extract the information he came for.

“So...yeah. I hope that helps you sleep better at night.” 

Much to Tony’s uncanny relief, Stephen looked a little better than the first time they had met. This time, he was sitting up with his own volition. The sickly pallor that seemed to be perpetually tattooed onto the Sorcerer’s skin was fading and so were the myriad of cuts and bruises that littered his body from the plunge into the ravine. The gnarly stab wound, left uncovered by the cape that was currently tussling again with Peter, was still weeping red but looking less septic. If Tony had to make an accurate deduction he would say he was using magic to accelerate his healing. It did however, not make the stinging guilt in his heart recede any less. 

“It does.” Stephen fixed him a look that was a mixture of bewilderment and curiosity. But the blacksmith couldn’t shake the shiver of emotion when those eyes had him transfixed on that fateful night in the forest seem to read him like an open textbook. 

“Thank you... Stark.” 

Tony made a non-committal sound akin to acknowledgment, ignoring the swell of _something_ that filled his chest. He could count with the fingers on his hand of the times people had thanked him with genuine authenticity. 

Good god, he was accepting gratitude from a Sorcerer. His parents must be rolling in their graves. 

Nevertheless, it did not stop Tony from flipping the medicine bag open and pouring out the contents to gift to the man in front of him.

“I know your… magic can probably take care of your wounds but a little elemental care with humble human medicine probably wouldn’t hurt right?” The blacksmith had just the faintest idea on performing first aid thanks to Yinsen but the teaching manual had decisively not come with a _‘How to care for an infected stab wound on a Sorcerer’_ section. 

“So just accept the charity and goodwill before this becomes some twisted stockholm syndrome as a means to an end-” 

“Am I your prisoner?” 

Flinching a little at the unexpected interruption, Tony frowned. “Pardon me?” 

“Am I free to leave without resistance once I have healed?” 

“O-of course!” 

Unrelenting, Stephen tightened his jaw and curled his fingers into shaking fists. Sparks of golden-green light flickered weakly and Tony scooted back warily. Swallowing back a ball of dread rising up his throat, the blacksmith waited with muted breaths and wide eyes for the Sorcerer to speak again, trying his hardest not to think of the worst case scenario that might happen. 

Perhaps he should have at least brought _something_ along in case Stephen had a sudden change in heart-

“Will you bring your people to hunt me down afterwards?”

“Wha…” Of all the things he had expected Stephen to say, that was not one of them. “Why would I do that? Wouldn’t that would be undoing all the work I’m trying to do now?”

Tony could see the exact moment when realization finally dawned on the Sorcerer that the blacksmith truly meant no harm to him. 

“But… then why are you helping me?” 

Pushing away the painful ache that settled on his chest at the raw uncertainty behind those words, Tony retorted with his shield of sarcasm, the only way he knew how. 

“We playing twenty questions now Strange?” 

“I-it’s just... I truly have nothing to offer you.”

“Why can’t you just believe that I just want to see you healed peacefully?”

“I find it hard to fathom that since you were the one that stabbed me in the leg.” The reply was as dry as the desert and almost rivalling his heavy scorn.

“You were going to kill me with your green... magic-things and that huge golden barricade,” Tony spluttered out aghast, “of course I had to retaliate!” 

A look of careful regard flashed in the Sorcerer’s eyes. “Not one to surrender even in the face of death, huh?” Stephen huffed as curled his lip into a shadow of a smile in spite of the direction the conversation had gone to, “I guess we have more in common than I thought.” 

A week ago, if he had a similar question directed at him, Tony would not hesitate to violently strike back and personally made certain that the owner of the accusation _ate_ his own words back. But right now, the blacksmith had a frighteningly similar chain of thought as well. It was simply crazy how only a week was needed to change the perspective of his entire life.

“Well I… You gave me the liberty of knowledge, both sides of the coin and all. I know better now.” Tony almost choked on sheer amount of emotions that radiated out unintentionally and he couldn’t help but allow the remaining flow of words to rapidly escape. 

“Lord help me but no one deserves to go through what you had gone through. I truly am not a fan of your kind. They took too much from me,” exhaling sharply, Tony gathered himself again, “but that doesn’t mean you have to solely carry the faults of all the Sorcerers on your shoulders.” 

Unobscured wonder and morbid curiosity graced Stephen’s features and it was as if the Sorcerer simply could not understand why Tony understood.

“We are...I am not innocent.” The soft but very real words struck out and the blacksmith could almost taste the hesitance in the air. “I have tried to save lives... but when it came down to it, I needed to turn to offense as well.” 

_How many Human lives had Strange taken?_

Tony found that in all his good graces he did not want to know. Nor did he yearn to find out.

“Surprise, Surprise!” He announced decisively instead, “I’m not a saint either. I have plenty of blood on my hands as well.” At the slight frown that was tossed in his direction, Tony continued steadfast.

“Guess who is responsible for manufacturing weapons on my side to help stay atop in this war?” 

An uncomfortable silence engulfed the clearing once more and for a split second, Tony wondered if he had overstepped in some way. Perhaps that wasn’t one of his proudest moments to proclaim to the enemy. But Stephen’s unexpected answer proceeded to toss his worries into the bin.

“I guess, in the most twisted, ironic and strange way, that this makes us… equal?”

Unable to suppress the spike of incredulous mirth on how insane this situation actually became, Tony fell back on what he knew to salvage this crazy turn of events. 

“The Magical Nightmare of Horrors and The Merchant of Death. What a lovely pair we make.” 

Snorting at his antics, the Sorcerer rolled his eyes and muttered an audible retort of _‘Douchebag’_ clear under his breath, thus dissolving the tension in the cavern. Albeit, Tony could tell that there was no heat behind his words and saw Stephen visibly relaxing, his earlier caution and wariness finally evaporating. So the blacksmith decided that he just had to one-up the other man to have the final word.

“Asshole.” 

Stephen regarded him with a raised brow but Tony could see a tiny ghost of a smile reappearing on the Sorcerer’s face. Then there was a happy squeal that made the two adults turn to the other end of the cavern. Tony could help but crack a grin as he saw what his apprentice was up to. 

Peter was donning the flying magical-cape-thing and was currently levitating over, looking as if he was about to spontaneously combust with pure excitement.

God, Tony never thought that he would ever see such an unimaginable scene. 

Stepping slightly to the side, Tony watched as the sentient red outerwear set his apprentice delicately beside him and floated back to the Sorcerer.

After giving his mentor a little hug, Peter then sat cross-legged in front of Stephen as the Sorcerer started to tend to his wounds. His aversion to magic still made Tony slightly wary when medical gauzes, bandages, antibiotics and a small sealed bottle of hydrogen peroxide levitated out of the bag and floated towards the Sorcerer but Peter was beaming like he had been given a lifetime of sweets.

“Hey Mr Sorcerer! You look better today!” The teen spoke eagerly. “You have a cool cape too! What is it called?”

“Mhmm its a Cloak,” Stephen corrected him gently, “and I see it is pretty fond of you Peter.” 

“Aw man that’s amazing! Can I name it!” 

“If The Cloak of Levitation is agreeable to it, I don’t see why not.” With a faint smile, Stephen visibly soften at the contact of the boy’s contagious energy. His inhuman eyes suddenly did not look like it was going to court death and nor did his stiff stance that spelled danger which was slowly loosening bit by bit. Stephen truly did not look that dangerous anymore. In fact, he truly looked just like any one of them. 

For a moment, Tony wondered when Stephen had last smiled like that. 

As he saw the Sorcerer and his apprentice interact with such openness and tranquility, Tony also wondered where the surging urge to see that same smile again was suddenly coming from. 

For the first time in days, ever since he had found Stephen half-dead in his trap, Tony felt lighter. He felt more at peace with himself. It was as if decades of accumulated baggage of hate and turmoil had been lifted from his shoulders.

Perhaps having a change of heart was not that bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, the slow burn begins. 
> 
> With the latest ‘custody battle’ Sony and Disney/Marvel are having over our dearest Spiderman and Tom’s little bittersweet speech at D23, we really, really need nice things now :”)
> 
> I also do apologize for the delay in posting this. My entire family, including me, had all recently caught dengue fever and boy was it unpleasant. It was pretty bad at the start, not going to lie but thankfully all is good now! 


	8. The Magic of Creation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is also known as, for all the HTTYD fans out there, **The Forbidden Friendship**

_"He said that we belonged together because he was born with a flower and I was born with a butterfly and that flowers and butterflies need each other for survival."_

_-Gemma Malley, The Declaration_

* * *

As the days went by, Tony managed to work out a semblance of a structured routine as he lived his dual life. At dawn, he would collect a second serving of food for an extra mouth to feed. Despite Stephen vain attempt to explain that Sorcerers did not necessarily need to eat daily as they could feed through their own innate magic for at least five whole days, Tony straight up refused to let him consume and burn through his already minimal energy.

He blamed the sudden surge of protectiveness on the nagging guilt that did not seem to leave his heart. Tony _was_ responsible for wounding the man after all. Frankly, it was the least he could do to make up for his wrongs.

Dodging Stane and his other unruly blacksmiths, He would then proceed to _The Forge_ and start on his newest project. 

Peter would make his appearance at noon to work as scheduled and together, they would tinker distractedly till about 5 once the sun started showing signs of dipping. Once his shift was over, he would abandon his post and slowly walk through town nonchalantly before proceeding to slip out of the west gates and meet with Stephen. Depending if Tony deemed it safe, sometimes and _only sometimes_ would Peter then be granted to tag along after workdays, much to the teen’s delight. 

Of course Tony made sure to keep the visiting hours short and always made sure to bring back food from the guise of ‘Checking his traps after dark’ in order to reduce suspicion. It wasn’t easy to escape the sharp eyes of the guards as he sneaked back into town after twilight. So often enough, the blacksmith found himself scaling the walls that separated Genevra and the forest beyond.

There was so much at stake by fraternizing with the enemy and he knew very well of the risks and harsh consequences that accompanied. Still, Tony couldn’t help himself. There was something gravitating him to see the Sorcerer of the caverns living in the ravine.

Maybe it was because Tony felt like he was somehow obliged to visit. Or maybe it was because of his undying curiosity that just could not be tamed. But at the end of the day it couldn't be denied that Tony Stark was completed captivated by the complete enigma that was Stephen Strange.

The first few times when he had gone alone without Peter, Tony had realized how insecure he felt without the soothing company of his apprentice. It was not so much of being afraid of Stephen as a person but it was that the blacksmith feared what the Sorcerer could do. Every single experience he had with magic had always been accompanied with a negative connotation to it and Tony did not know if he could ever get over the fact that magic could be used to _create_ as much as it could be used to destroy. 

Somehow Stephen must have picked up on it because the Sorcerer had stopped levitating the food out of his rucksack and visibly made an effort to withhold his power when Tony was near. Regardless, the blacksmith would occasionally catch a flash of green emitting from the shakiness of Stephen’s palms or a spark of power glowing from his eyes. Tony however was inadvertently drawn to the multitude of thick raised scars that adorned the back of both the Sorcerer’s hands as his own throbbed unconsciously in response. 

Fiddling with the chord of his talisman that was always nestled over the marks on his own chest, Tony could make an educated guess on how Stephen had obtained his heavy wounds. But he decided that he would add that to the ‘redacted questions’ pile that never seemed to stop growing in size.

Eventually, the two of them had come to an unspoken agreement to keep the topic of both Man and Magic off the table. Stephen did not have to bring up where he had come from and where he was to go afterwards and Tony did not have to talk about his past with Sorcerers and the future to come. 

One would think there would really be nothing to converse about with these main pieces of conversation redacted but boy was the blacksmith wrong. 

With the threat on his life gone, Stephen was quick to question, challenge and oppose Tony’s every move. It was as if the Sorcerer was testing the limits of how far he could go with him. From the simplest things like the type of food the blacksmith had brought and individual decision-making to even topics relating to his apprentice, Stephen was constantly questioning, ribbing and butting-heads with Tony. 

_“I’m confused as to the relationship here,” gesturing to Peter who was distracted by the Cloak several feet away, the Sorcerer asked in question, “what is he, your ward?”_

_“No he’s my kid,” snorting sarcastically, Tony retorted, “clearly we’re related.”_

_“You two look nothing alike.”_

_“And you’re an expert on genetics all of a sudden?”_

_“As a matter of fact, I was an expert on neurology,” Stephen had openly grinned at the gobsmacked look that appeared on Tony’s face, “but I don’t need to study your brain to know that it is majorly consisting of a whole lot of ego.”_

_From across the clearing, Peter let out a long hiss, mimicking the sound of a candle extinguishing._

_“Need some ice for the burn Mr Stark?” The teen hollered cheekily which got himself a half-hearted yell of protest from the blacksmith._

It was infuriating to have someone perpetually biting his head off, that was certain. But unlike the bitter conversations he had with Stane or Barton, his verbal spats with Stephen were… different. There was an underlying tone of respect in the Sorcerer’s words and the sharp retorts were often commented teasingly and without any malice or heat. It had been so long since Tony met his match in a battle of snark and wits and the blacksmith couldn’t help but egg the Sorcerer on just to see how far he could go in return. Some sense of self-preservation he had!

_“So what made you think jumping into a ravine would do you any good?”_

_Nonplussed, Stephen rolled his eyes spectacularly and merely sighed. “Clearly I didn’t want to see your ugly-mug, Stark.”_

_“Oh gee,” The blacksmith commented mock-gravely, “was I that horrifying?”_

_“Have you seen your face?” The magic-user smirked as Tony squawked in objection. “Or do I need to take another trip down so you can take a look at your own reflection in the water?”_

Tony would rather chop his arm off than admit it but seeing the Sorcerer defy and go against him instead of fearing him made the blacksmith feel so much more comfortable when he was in the magic-user’s presence. Stephen was sharp-tongued and proudly defiant, speaking a language Tony knew by heart. But alas, the blacksmith realized that he did have a soft, gentle and compassionate side as well. Stephen was truly fascinating. 

Who knew he would one day be associating _fascinating_ and a _Sorcerer_ together?

It was also safe to say that Peter was fully enthralled with Stephen. After the first meeting, he bargained for every opportunity to go see the magic-user himself again. Peter had begged and pleaded with Tony with his endless storage of persuasion till the blacksmith caved. His only condition was that Peter was not allowed to pull another solo scavenger hunt into the wilderness alone again. Whenever he wanted to visit, the blacksmith had to be there to accompany him. 

It was not a matter of trust or anything in the presence of Stephen- hell Peter had somehow, in his own precious way, managed to crawl his way into the Sorcerer’s heart; but Tony was well aware that not all Sorcerers were as benign as their magic-user was. He would be damned if Peter was to get hurt because he grew overconfident.

Apparently, the sentiment was not one-sided. The blacksmith had observed the way Stephen would go out of his way to make the teen comfortable and affectionately allow him to name and scuffle with his thousand-year-old relic (that was what they were called now). Tony would smile fondly as he saw how Peter would chatter endlessly about his life in Genevra and recount tales of his little adventures with his friends to Stephen who never failed to give the teen his full attention. 

_“...So Shuri was like, ‘Yeah my family is all royalty and fancy, they are super proper.’ But then the next thing I knew, her annoying cousin had flunked a piece of bread at her brother’s face! Oh man! They had the biggest food fight ever and my aunt was rather pissed that we had wasted so much food but Shuri made me a promise that it wouldn’t happen again!” Peter had rambled animatedly, pausing just to take in a breath and grinning excitedly up at the Sorcerer._

_“She seems like a nice girl.” Stephen answered as pursed his lips slightly in regret. “I’m sorry you missed dinner with her.”_

_“It’s alright cause she owes me a favor now! Oh that reminds me about that one time where I…”_

Chuckling, Tony would have to slowly ease the conversation to a pause, swearing up and down to his apprentice that they would come back again when the time came. Thus, when the weekend came around, as promised, mentor and apprentice would find themselves bringing their lunch into the forest under the guise of a blacksmith picnic bonding session.

Deep in the ravine, Man and Sorcerer would then have a meal in the clearing of the cavern together where steadily, the pair merged into three and a slow, forbidden friendship blossomed. 

Once the stab wound on Stephen’s leg had healed to the point where he could put weight on it without it hurting, the trio had begun to explore the cavern which indeed were entrances to other dark connecting caves. With a twist of his wrist, Stephen conjured a glowing sphere of natural light in his palm which illuminated the tunnels and dispersed the shadows. 

What struck Tony significantly however, was the fact that the Sorcerer had turned to the blacksmith for consult and made an effort to explain to him precisely what he was about to create before he brought it to life. It wasn’t that Stephen was asking for Tony’s permission to use his magic. On the contrary, it seemed that the Sorcerer had considered the real fact that Tony feared his power and was bending over backwards to ensure the blacksmith was not to be alarmed unnecessarily. 

Tony sincerely did not know how to feel about the fact that despite everything he had done, Stephen still cared about his welfare. 

The winding tunnels lead to another opening which was high enough to be able overlooked the sky and trees unobscured by the darkness of the ravine. There was a narrow but sturdy ledge where the stone was dry and smooth. Very, very carefully, Tony allowed Peter to sit at the edge and allow his legs to dangle down into the ravine below. 

_“Don’t worry Stark. I’ve made sure that a layer of magic surrounds Peter when he’s near the edge. It will prevent him from falling.” Stephen had placated amiably as he saw the tangible lines of stress emitting from Tony when the blacksmith saw the teen peering over the ledge sending a rain of gravel into the chasm._

_“The protection spell will not hurt your apprentice in any way. And in the event of a fall, he would be unharmed. He will be safe while he is around me.”_

Raw gratitude and a strange feeling of comfort enveloped his heart as Tony realized that there was now someone else looking out for Peter. And it wasn’t because they were trying to get into Tony’s good graces or was forced to babysit but it was out of true and pure concern. Stephen knew how important the teen was to him and was going the extra length to keep him safe. _To keep them both safe._

It was a rather ironic twist of fate really, that Stephen was one of the few people who genuinely understood his needs and actively tried to seek Tony out for who he was and not solely for his skills or what he could give.

 _A goddamn Sorcerer could relate to him more than half the population of Genevra. Would you believe that?_ Tony did not know if he should laugh or cry at the bitter satire.

Gradually, as the days stretched into weeks, the blacksmith’s natural sense of curiosity and thirst for knowledge soon overcame the decade-long fear that had set a home around his heart. In hindsight, it was not a matter of ‘if’ Tony would ask but ‘ _when_ ’. 

On a rather chilly evening, Tony found himself seeking out the Sorcerer, this time without his apprentice. The blacksmith soon found the Sorcerer hanging out on the ledge in front of the mouth of new cave they had discovered, gazing into the sky above. 

And Tony surprised himself by breaking his own rule, bringing up the forbidden topic he never thought he would initiate as a rather abrupt greeting. 

“Strange, could you... show me what you can do?” 

Stephen’s head whipped to the side so quickly that Tony thought he might have gotten himself a whiplash. The Sorcerer regarded him with a strange piercing look. But it was not of malice but of a purely inquisitive nature.

“What would you like to see, Stark?” Stephen settled on neutrally, his head tilted to the side almost comically as he waited for the blacksmith to reply.

Feeling the pit of anxiety returning, Tony decided that if he did not beat his demons into submission right here and right now he would never get another opportunity to do so. 

“O-On the first day we met, you said- m-magic was never meant to be conjured into weapons. But I was—well, that was all I had even been exposed to.” He announced finally in a mad rush of words and allowed the sentence to trail off uneasily. 

“That is why you fear it so much?” This time it came out as a statement from Stephen rather than a question. Wordlessly, Tony gave a nod of acknowledgement. 

“You’re right, we do fear what we don’t know,” the blacksmith admitted at last, “but I think it’s time that I, that I stop being a-afraid-” 

_Oh who was he kidding. He was terrified!_

Trembling and reeling from his words that he suddenly felt like taking back, Tony felt his legs buckle as he slid down the side of the stone walls. Squeezed his eyes shut, he tried his best to calm his rapidly beating heart and steady his shivering breaths. The cold of the stone seeped steadily into his bones and it reminded Tony of the wave of chilling, malevolent magic sweeping over him and freezing his soul-

Something warm settled on his clenched fists. The gentle touch pulled Tony from the icy depths and forced the blacksmith back into awareness. An audible gasp left him as he saw a tiny blue butterfly perching on the edge of his right knuckle. Its wings were almost translucent, the perimeter of them colored with dashes of brown. But what fascinated Tony the most was the fact that the wings of the lone butterfly seem to be morphing between a mixture of the deep azure sky and the shade of green like a new leaf sprouting after winter. 

It was no ordinary creature, that was for certain. Slowly, Tony pulled his gaze away from the butterfly, only to inhale sharply as he saw Stephen settling into a half-crouch right in front of him. 

At each meeting, Tony would always give a wide berth to the Sorcerer. He would choose to settle down within a certain proximity to have a conversation and to listen but far enough as to not to intrude into Stephen’s own personal space. Tony liked to think that after everything he had done to the Sorcerer, it was better to not be too presumptuous as to what the magic-user was comfortable with.

But right now, Stephen was just mere feet from him. Close enough for Tony to notice that the butterfly now resting on his palm was of the same perfect luminous shade as the Sorcerer's ever-changing eyes.

“Back when you first found me, I didn’t have the strength to conjure one properly.” Stephen spoke softly, locking his eyes firmly with Tony, helping to ground him. With a sharp but non-threatening gesture with his fingers, several more creatures were summoned, bursting out with flourish out of Stephen’s scarred palms. Each a different shape, size and color, the creatures circled around the pair like a gentle hurricane of beating wings. Fear dissolved into awe at the sight of something so breathtaking that was birth out of magic. It was nothing that Tony had ever seen before. 

“But now with my replenished strength, I can release my excess magic through creatures like butterflies where they would fester back into nature.” Stephen flicked his wrist and the flutter of butterflies came to settle around them. The feather-like touch of each individual that landed on the blacksmith was like an electric kiss of warmth that flowed through his skin and Tony’s breath hitched as he stared on, spellbound.

“This way I’ll be able to control my powers with better ease and allow my magic to return back to the earth.” Stephen’s voice was filled with fervor, tingling with the strength of a gushing flame. 

“It is almost like a circle of life with the touch of time and creation.” 

Without missing a beat, Stephen pressed his hands down onto the cold natural stone and closed his eyes. His shaking palms began to emit a gentle light that soon started to spread out, warming all it touched. 

The cracks between the grey, weathered away by the accumulation of the elements of nature, began to glow a steady golden-green. In a surge of energy and with a burst of sparks the impossible happened. 

Life started breaking out from the dead fractures of stone. 

Wildflowers emerged through the cracks and sprouted upwards rapidly, covering the surface like springtime on earth. Grey morphed into green and it was as if they were fast-forwarding through time because all the flowers started blooming together at once. 

From peach-colored Yarrows, ruby red Poppies, Chamise the color of clouds to deep violent morning glories and a single golden bush Sunflower; they all dyed the ground with their beauty and came together in a sea of life. The butterflies, eager to meet the newest magical creations, flew up from the stunned blacksmith and started to settle amongst the bed of flowers

Tony found himself in the epicenter of the splash of color, jaw-unhinged and utterly gobsmacked. Almost like he was caught in a trance, the blacksmith found that he could not keep his eyes off the marvel of creation. 

It was staggeringly overwhelming and impossibly crazy. But it was a beautiful miracle, born from a single remarkable touch of magic and simply, breathtakingly _majestic_. 

A gust of wind blew across the mouth of the cave and the Cloak of Levitation waved merrily following the currents of the natural air, flaring out behind the still crouching Sorcerer in a flash of imperial red. Tony watched as Stephen took in a deep breath of air before lifting a hand to push the ruffled strands of his jet-black hair away from his forehead, his fingers brushing against the grey streaks at his temple. 

Keeping his eyes closed, Stephen stood up in a swift, fluid movement. Ankle-deep in nature and tilting his head to the clouds, a look of tranquil and peace settled on his serene face. 

In a heartbeat, the Sorcerer finally turned around, full and alert. However, it was not to look at the wonder of his creation... but at Tony. A rare, true and satisfied smile appeared on Stephen’s face as his eyes sparkled with delight and his cheeks glowed like the setting sun. 

“Only when you understand what you fear can you overcome it." Closing the gap between the two, Stephen swept his arm out gesturing to the marvel they were both surrounded by. "And then you'll come to understand that you should have never feared it in the first place.”

Tony found that he simply could not pull his gaze away from the captivating sight of magic, nature and its creator as his heart pounded on with a familiar, comforting warmth and his soul mirrored happiness and content that he had never felt before. 

For the first time, a companionable silence settled in the air around the pair. They sat there in the sound of silence, inhaling the sweet touch of magic, listening to the gentle whisper of the winds and gazing into the golden sky of the setting sun. At one point, the Cloak lifted of Stephen’s shoulders and stretched itself out so it could drape against the pair, bringing them closer and enveloping them both in a comforting warmth against the coolness of the approaching night. 

There was so much to say. Yet nothing was needed to be said right now.

There they remained, side by side on the edge of the cliff and surrounded by the steady humming of the supernatural until the last light of the sun danced across the horizon and the twinkling night sky came alive with stars.

* * *

Stane’s angered roar that boomed through the door of _The Forge_ the following afternoon didn’t put a damper on Tony’s spectacular mood. He had conquered _magic_ and all in one night too for fucks sake, taking on a moody boss was simply child’s play. Wracking his brains, Tony wondered who had screwed up this time. 

He had been careful to cover his tracks as he went to and fro from the cavern even going as far as to switch out his clothes to prevent the bloodhounds from sniffing out a foreign sent. It was probably one of a long-shot but Tony rather be safe than sorry-

“Why are these _things_ in here!” 

Things? What things? Curious now, Tony swung the wooden door open and was greeted by a rather bizarre sight. 

Butterflies, there were actual real-life butterflies in _The Forge_. 

Doing a quick count and coming up with a grand total of seven, Tony could see them elegantly fluttering about his workbench and settling randomly on his metal hand-tools. There was even one on the top of his water barrel, the little guy batting its wings as droplets of water settled on them. 

His new guests were certainly not wild butterflies as each were a mesmerizing certainly-not-from-this- world shade of blue. Thankfully, they were currently mono-colored and not the colors of the rainbow whatsoever. Nonetheless, they were undoubtedly the work of his Sorcerer. 

Stephen must have accidentally placed some sort of attachment spell on the creatures he had conjured the day before and they must have followed him home. But really, Tony couldn't care less. Nevertheless, his heart clenched tightly in his chest as the blacksmith gazed at the magnificent beauty that was currently taking refuge in his workplace which was born out of pure magic. If Tony did not know better he would think that they were looking out for him. 

He couldn’t find it in him to get rid of them. But he couldn’t sit around and let them be destroyed by Man either way. 

Before either adult could react, Peter suddenly materialized out of thin air and spoke up quickly, “Oh I think they might have escaped from the greenhouse. I’ll go and bring them back!” 

Grabbing a large glass jar from storage, the teen started to pluck the cerulean creatures from where they were strewn over workbenches and tools. Gently, the apprentice collected all seven of them and carefully deposited the butterflies into the container for safe transport. 

Nodding deliberately at Tony with a knowing look, the youngster rushed out a _good day Mr Stane_ and hastily retreated before the Head Blacksmith realized that the only greenhouse Genevra had was at the other side of town. 

“Well that had been taken care of hasn’t it.” Tony announced as obnoxious as he could, shaking himself out of his stupor. Ignoring a disgruntled _harump_ from his boss, the blacksmith waved a dismissive hand.

“As you were Stane. I need to get back to work.”

As the sound of his boss’ fading footsteps, Tony drew out a long exhale and forced himself to focus and get back to what he had been doing the day before. It was a new upgrade to Barton’s weapons. The blacksmiths were starting to gradually shift their weapons-making from defense to offense and Stane now wanted all arrowheads to be serrated in order to inflict maximum damage when it was pulled out of their enemy. 

Tony however, found that he was unwilling to bring himself to complete it. Weight-down with knowledge and understanding from a new point of view, Tony could not in his good conscience continue down this same path. 

What if it was used to injure one of the Sorcerers forced to fight for the cause? What if it was used on a magic-user’s child who had not yet know how to defend himself? 

_Oh God. What if it was used on Stephen?_

The sudden, vivid image of Stephen getting impaled, bleeding out and left to die by yet another of his creations made Tony sick right to his very core.

In a rush of broken rage, Tony shoved the weapon to the side in one fluid movement, knocking a bundle of thick nylon rope that started to unravel itself off his workbench and onto the dusty floor. _The same ropes that were used to build The Iron Webs,_ the blacksmith thought bitterly. 

This could not be what his life was just meant for. He _had_ to be made for something else. 

However, being a blacksmith and creating weapons was all he knew. Tony did not know life before that. But as he gazed at the half-constructed arrow on his workbench, a wretched feeling of disgust wrapped around his heart and Tony found that he had lost the taste for forging instruments of destruction. 

He venomously refused to have any more blood on his hands.

“Fuck…” Sinking miserably to the floor, Tony squeezed his eyes shut in a moment of resentful despair. _What was he to do now?_

But fate had proved to him once again that though it was frivolous, it could also be forgiving and thus it granted him a sign. 

Nestled in between the edge of the underside of his bench where wood and metal met was an eighth butterfly. Unlike the others, this one had streaks of brown around the perimeter of its almost translucent blue-green wings and Tony’s heart leapt to his throat.

It was the exact one Stephen had pressed onto his palm just the day before—His first touch of magic. 

The symbol of hope brought with it the representation of fleeting life and a soothing spirit whispered of transformation and change. The breath was pushed out of his lungs and in that very instant, Tony’s vision was shrouded with bittersweet tears. 

Scrubbing the evidence of emotion off his cheeks, the blacksmith pulled himself together and crawled under the bench so he could meet it at eye-level, losing interest in the nylon pile strewn on the floor. The wayward creature started to fan its wings rapidly, seeming delighted that Tony had finally took notice of it.

“Well, that was a close one wasn’t it bud?” It was probably stupid to talk to a magic butterfly but hey after Peter had named a sentient cloak _Levi,_ Tony had found that he has been slowly succumbing to his apprentice’s level of morbid affection when it came to strange enchanted things of epic proportions. 

Tenderly, the blacksmith stretched out his hand to allow the precious bundle to wiggle out of its cramped spot and crawl onto his calloused palm. Ensuring that there was no one around, Tony cupped his hands gingerly over the package and walked to an open window.

“I’m sure Pete will release the rest of your friends once he gets out of sight.” With the thought of the magic of creation, soft glowing eyes and a rare smile only unique to one, Tony opened his palm, watching as the magical gift fluttered to freedom. With a fond smile of his own, Tony couldn’t help but feel his heart swell with an unexplainable rush of liberating happiness. 

“Go on, be free.” 

Tony was never one to pray, he didn’t think that anyone up there was willing to listen to all his woes and tribulations. But for the first time, as he watched the butterfly disappear into the evening sky, Tony wondered if God could make a difference in what was going on down here. What will be the fate of Stephen and the rest of the Sorcerer’s on his side? What will be the outcome of humanity’s growing influence of dehumanizing the enemy? Has Man been truly abandoned and left to their senseless destiny of endless warfare and violence? 

Maybe, just maybe if he prayed, if he wished hard enough, this meaningless battle with the Sorcerers would come to an end. Maybe everything would one day be alright. 

Peace in their time, _imagine that._

Because at the end of the day, was it truly such a fickle thing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made it sure to dedicate an entire chapter on building up our favorite pair so here it is! I sure did go misty-eyed writing this particular one. 
> 
> I have literally fallen in love with the concept of Stephen conjuring up magic butterflies for Tony <3 I don’t think she reads this story but I have only **amethyst-noir (Arbonne)** to thank for it. Her fic, _An Invite to Eternity_ was the source that inspired myself to start writing this fic heehee. Her Ironstrange stories are actually a gift to mankind.


	9. Secrets of the Times

"You _think the only people who are people._

_Are the people who look and think like you._

_But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger._

You'll learn things you never knew, you never knew.”

 _— Pocahontas,_ **_Pocahontas_ **

* * *

“So, where will you be off to today Tones?”

Flinching, Tony jumped at the sudden voice that resounded from behind him, inundating his thoughts. Spinning around, the blacksmith sighed in relief when he realized it was just Steve Rogers. The Captain smirked as Tony fumbled with his satchel, eyes darting to the west gates as he tried his hardest not to look like a child who was caught red-handed with a hand in the cookie jar.

“H-Hey Steve! Just going to check on my traps out there,” he jerked a thumb to the west gates of Genevra. “What brings you here to this part of the town?” 

Tony made a mental note that he really had to stop spazzing like a guilty jackrabbit each time he was caught off-guard. Going out to the forest after working hours wasn’t a crime and he shouldn’t be second-guessed. (Meeting up with a Sorcerer in said forest was though but hey, what Steve didn’t know would not kill him right?) 

Rogers gave him a puzzled look, unable to pick up Tony’s mental thoughts. Regardless, the Tracker flashed him a megawatt smile before turning the conversation back. “Well, just making my casual rounds. Nothing special.” Shrugging, Rogers looked away trying to be nonchalant before catching Tony’s distracted gaze.

“I was wondering if you had time to grab dinner today?” 

On hyper alert now, the blacksmith’s mouth curved into a comical O-shape and he stopped short. After the butterfly fiasco in _The Forge_ several days prior, Tony had waited an entire day before meeting with the magic-user to prevent a similar thing from happening again and arousing suspicion. Despite his constant reassurance that _really nothing spectacularly bad happened_ , Stephen had sworn left, right and center to ensure that the blacksmith would never receive a mystical gift that unexpectedly again. Stephen then promised he would ‘ _make it up to him_ ’ on Tony’s next visit. 

To say that the blacksmith was just a little curious to discover for himself what the definition of a Sorcerer’s apology gift was, would be a gross understatement.

Wincing, Tony chewed on his lip as he was currently torn between the Captain of the Trackers and the mysterious Sorcerer living in a cavern that he just could not stop thinking about.

Come to think of it, not counting the 3 hour one-sided conversation a couple of weeks ago, it indeed had been some time since Rogers and him had went for a meal together as friends to catch up about their lives. 

But then Tony would have to go to bed again today without knowing what other magical surprises Stephen had installed for him. 

Steve wasn’t going anywhere. He would always be in Genevra for dinner anytime. There really was no reason why Tony couldn’t find another available date to meet up with the Captain. 

Stephen on the other hand... Between them, time was not necessarily on their side. 

Alas, deep in his heart, Tony knew what his decision would be even before he had started pondering about the pros and cons of the two. 

Apologetically, the blacksmith tried to squish the guilt rising in his gut as he politely declined Steve’s offer with a bland smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Maybe next week? I promise I’ll make time for a meeting in the future.” Shuffling, Tony dipped his head slightly as a goodbye and turned to stride out quickly before he could be followed. “Going to bring back some meat, don’t wait up Steve!” 

“Has there been something that had attracted your attention out there Tony?” 

The Captain’s sudden unexpected query punched a hole right through the blacksmith, freezing him sharply on the spot. Daring not to even turn around least the blond saw right through him, Tony wracked his brain desperately as Steve continued ominously. 

“Don’t think I haven’t been noticing your little sneak outs after dark. What’s so magical about the wilderness that keeps leading you out there?”

Shit. _Shitshitshit._

_He couldn’t find out about Stephen. No one here could ever find out about Stephen._

Not knowing what else to do, the blacksmith tried to cover up his fear with a lash of his sharp tongue. 

“Last I heard, I’m a fully-grown adult.” Turning around boldly, Tony forced himself to glare unyieldingly into the blazing eyes of the Tracker before snapping defensively. “What I do in my free time is none of your goddamn business Rogers!”

A look of visible hurt flashed across his friend’s face and the blacksmith winced as he saw Steve recoil from the backlash of his words. He obviously did not expect such an explosive outburst coming from Tony. 

With a clear look of surrender, Steve sighed. “Contrary to what you might think, I do care about you Tony. I don’t want to see you hurt.” 

Feeling his heart twisted painfully in his chest at the open concern his friend had for him, Tony truly felt like the worst human being in the world. He truly was a good-for-nothing scumbag. Clenching his jaw tightly to prevent more barbered words from tumbling out, Tony forced himself to listen to what Steve had to say.

“The forest, especially after dark, isn’t the safest place for you to go wandering through alone.” Crossing his arms around his broad chest, Steve chastised fervently. “You of all people should be aware of this.” 

Snorting, the blacksmith could help the retort that sprang from him as if it had a life of its own. “Oh, because of the _magical_ creatures that live in there?” _God, fuck him and his non-exixtance mouth to brain filter._

“Tony, Sorcerers are very real.” Biting his tongue hard this time the blacksmith willed his entire body to remain still and calm. _Oh Steve, you have no idea._ A worried frown found its way to Roger’s face and the Captain tried to meet Tony’s hardened look.

“I don’t want something big to happen for you to finally figure that out for yourself.” 

Flippantly, the blacksmith pulled his gaze away, refusing to empathize with the Tracker’s tunneled-vision. “Yeah, I think I’ll take my chances thanks.” 

“Tony-” 

“If you tail me, I’ll never forgive you Rogers.” 

Without looking back, Tony shrugged off the Captain with blazing eyes before storming back into town. He couldn’t afford to be followed unknowingly, Steve was a Tracker after all. If Peter could do it that effortlessly, Tony was certain Steve could do it in his goddamn sleep. 

Looks like he would have to take the long way round to visit later.

* * *

_Kill on sight. Or They’ll come back to kill you._

That was what he had been raised to believe, his body marred with the scars of truth. 

He had tried his best to do so. But alas, Stephen had not. He had proven to him again and again that Sorcerers were capable of change and were not all just mindless beasts hellbent on destruction. But will Rogers see it his way? Will Genevra? Not everyone was as open-minded as Peter. And not everyone had a chance to be exposed to magic in its natural state of lifegiving. 

Tony Stark still found it so incredibly hard to fathom that he could vulnerably stretch his body out to soak in the sunlight with a Sorcerer perching over him like a shadow without a care in the world. There were no expectations, no discrimination and no hate. In that moment, Tony decisively would place all his worries for the future and his responsibilities in Genevra aside. 

“A penny for your thoughts?”

“Hmm?” Lying on his back in the bed of flowers with his face to the sky, Tony muttered back noncommittally breaking out from his little internal monologue. “I’m sure my thoughts are worth more than a mere penny, Strange.”

He heard a rustle before the Sorcerer emerged from the shallows of the cave and into the sunlight. “Well, I can hear your brain whirling from all the way here.” Settling several yards away, Stephen poked at a stray weed distractedly before turning to him unblinkingly. 

“If you have a question, you are always free to ask, Tony.” 

Tony wasn’t aware that they were now on first-name basis but he liked the way his name gracefully rolled off the Sorcerer’s tongue so he wasn’t about to be the one to correct him. Sitting up suddenly, the blacksmith was hit with a realization that Stephen was currently giving him the green light to ask all the burning queries he was once not entitled to do so. Tony wondered what made him have a change of heart.

Buzzing with anticipation and mentally shuffling through his overflowing proverbial bag of redacted questions, Tony then wondered which would be the most appropriate to start while he was at it. This was his chance to fully unlock the enigma of one Stephen Strange.

_What happened to your hands?_

_What is the extent of your magic?_

_How many good ones like you are out there?_

_Where did you come from before I found you?_

_Is there really a crazy Alpha Sorcerer trying to claim his dominance over both Sorcerers and mankind alike?_

But unexpectedly, the blacksmith decided to settle on something else foremost. 

“Tell me about your plans for your future.” 

Stephen frowned a little, looking slightly bewildered as if he could not understand why of everything unknown _that_ would be the first thing Tony wanted to discover primarily about him. 

“Well, you can’t possibly stay here forever right?” Tony allowed a slight touch of defensiveness to crawl into his voice at the open judgement from the Sorcerer.

“What’s the endgame for you?” 

“You getting tired of seeing me already?” Stephen teased, albeit his face was pinched with unease, betraying the relaxed posture his body was displaying. Taken aback by the fear dancing alive in the usually clear blue-green eyes of his companion, the blacksmith softened his gaze reassuringly. 

“You know that’s not it.”

_I’ll never get tired of you Stephen. You’re one of the best things that had happened to me._

Worry dissipating, Stephen clasped his palms together and pushed it under his chin in a thoughtful gesture. “Well, it really isn’t that straightforward and it surely isn’t that simple.”

Scooting closer to him, Tony smirked. “Then summarize it for us mere mortals, oh grand Sorcerer.”

“If you must insist, thy fearless Man.” 

Levi unhooked itself from Stephen shoulders and uncurled itself like an oversized cat before floating over to settle in between the pair as the Sorcerer begun. 

“After I have fully explored the extent of my... magic, I will make it my personal mission to find the Soulkeeper before the Black Order do.” Stephen pursed his lips in seemingly displeasure. “Apparently, it has been proved difficult to find the last Keeper and thus I have to make sure to keep out of sight from both Man and other Sorcerers loyal to the Order-” 

_Woah woah, hold up. The Black Order? Keepers? What?_ A million more questions sprung out from the depths of Tony’s befuzzled mind and he loudly made his confusion known. Bemused with his ignorance, the Sorcerer merely shrugged. 

“You did ask. And I too think it was about time I broke my side of the unspoken deal and shared with you a little more about me.” 

Getting up, Stephen looked around till he spotted a wilted-looking Sunflower unsustained by magic. Motioning for Tony to follow, the Sorcerer did a rush of complicated hand gestures. 

Tucking both his pinky fingers into his palms, Stephen pressed his thumb and ring finger together before crossing his arms at the wrists. Familiar bands of green wrapped around the Sorcerer’s arm and there was a surge of familiar raw energy electrifying the air around them. Tony’s skin prickled with an uncomfortable sense of dejavu. Where did he last see thi-

Right, the forest. On their very first encounter. When he thought he was about to die. 

Deep down in his heart, Tony was reassured that Stephen would never hurt him and that his magic was benevolent. But that didn’t stop him from taking an unconscious step back, gazing warily at the tendrils of magic lapping around the Sorcerer’s wrists as if it were emerald flames of fire. 

“Don’t be afraid, Tony.” The gentle rumbling of Stephen’s voice somehow soothed him right to the soul.

“Look. Look at what it can do.”

And the blacksmith tipped his head to the side and _looked_. 

Arms outstretched and fingers splayed out conjuring up a perfect green mandala, Stephen gently rotated his wrist to sweep over the right side of the flower. The cycle of life sped up impossibly and with a gasp of amazement, Tony saw the dull petals of the withered sunflower spring up like it was being re-born. The dried leaves surged into healthy green and the sunflower glowed golden -looking as good as new. 

“Holy shit Stephen! That was amazing!” Mouth agape, the blacksmith truly believed that he had seen it all. _How on God’s green earth did he do that?_

Swivelling his wrist slowly to the left this time, Stephen beamed up at him, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Watch.” 

Tony obeyed, brown eyes followed closely as scarred hands swept over the perfect sunflower for the second time. 

Awestruck, Tony witnessed first hand as the flower started to twist and transform right in front of his very eyes again. But this time something was different. It was as if time at begun to turn backwards because _fucking hell-_

Leaves rustling and shaking petals closing in on itself, the sunflower somehow started to shrink rapidly in size. Golden was quickly swallowed up in green as the flower unfurled itself back into a mere bud. But it didn’t stop there. Stephen moved his hand further to the left and then curled his fingers slightly. In gradual synch with the Sorcerer’s movement, the plant decreased in size until it became a small shoot, then a tiny seedling. 

Breathlessly and daring not to even blink lest he miss another miracle unfolding in front of his own eyes, Tony watched gobsmacked as Stephen finally clenched his fist. And thus, the grand sunflower that was at his feet only seconds ago vanished from the face of the earth, seemingly reverting back into nature.

The green bands dissolved as the Sorcerer crouched down to pick up a single sunflower seed between his thumb and forefinger and dropped it into Tony’s open palm. Inhuman eyes glowed, meeting dazed brown ones and a surge of warm swelled in his heart as Tony found himself echoing what he had heard before.

“The circle of life- the touch of time and creation…” 

“You’re not any ordinary Sorcerer are you.” It came out as a bold statement rather than a question. 

The magnificent smile never left Stephen’s face as the Sorcerer announced unwaveringly. “Indeed, I am… not. I am one of the few who carries with me an Ability, a greater power of magic that is unheard of.” 

The sunflower sprouting forward and reverting backwards through the stages of its life. It was impossible but there was no other explanation. Could it be? Was Stephen actually manipulating the very essence of time itself? 

In his shock he must have muttered his thoughts aloud as the Sorcerer laughed with open mirth. “Nice to see that we are on the same wavelength here Tony.” 

“You can control time?!” With his hypothesis confirmed, the magnitude of the situation came crashing down onto Tony incredulously like a slap from a damn sledgehammer.

“Why didn’t you tell me that before? Good lord you have the power of _time at your fingertips holy fuck!”_

“Well I didn’t think that this was something I’d use to break the ice,” chuckling at Tony’s face of raw disbelief, Stephen added, “It was on a need-to-know basis anyway. Besides, getting you comfortable with magic was a good enough milestone for me. This was just a bonus.” 

Gaping like a fish floundering on land, the blacksmith was at a complete loss for words. Stephen on the other hand looked for all the world like he had won the very answers to the universe. The _asshole_ was grinning like an idiot, seemingly enjoying every moment of spectacularly blowing Tony’s mind and completely questioning everything he once believed in.

After managing a shaky hold back on reality, the blacksmith finally found his tongue. “S-So you are a... a Keeper you say?” 

“I’m the Timekeeper yes,” thoughtfully, Stephen continued, “a good deduction would be that my Ability is apparently the one responsible for the change of color in my magic.” 

“And there are others like you?”

“So I was told.” A flash of sadness, crossed the Sorcerer’s face and if the blacksmith had not been observant enough, he would have missed it. Shaking his head roughly as to dispel the thoughts, Stephen schooled his features tightly before turning to Tony once more.

“To answer your first question, I have plans to seek the Soulkeeper.” Right, Tony had totally forgotten about his earlier query which seriously felt like a lifetime ago. 

“His power has remained unknown as he, or she, is the final Keeper that isn’t- that has yet to been found.” 

“Why not?” Tony figured that it shouldn’t be that difficult to look for a lone Sorcerer or Sorceress with earth-bending powers. “Is the guy hiding in some top-secret magical hideout or something?” 

Scratching the loose strands of hair that had curled down his forehead, Stephen possibly looked as clueless as he was. “Well, I was told that the Soulkeeper is truly one of a kind, a unique soul that carries untainted magic although it currently remains dormant, probably locked away by reasons outside their control. Because for the longest time, magic could not be used to find this Keeper...” The Sorcerer trailed off, biting his lip and suddenly looking unsure. 

Frowning, the blacksmith cocked his head slightly to the left, morbid curiosity eating at him. “Just give it to me Stephen, I think I can handle it.” Wringing his hands nervously, Stephen reluctantly obliged. 

“It is rumoured that he or she is of a...mixed heritage, two halves of the same whole.”

Immediately, Tony knew exactly what Stephen was implying. 

“L-Like a hybrid Human-Sorcerer?”

“One could say that.” 

_Good God._ Tony suppressed a shiver as he tried not to imagine that poor sob somewhere in the world that was half Man and half Magic. What terrors had he experienced? Alas, a scorching thought seared his brain at once.

_Was that why the Sorcerers had been burning down town after town in the beginning, almost bringing humanity to its knees? All to seek out one individual who had powers that he didn’t even know he had?_

It wasn’t difficult to put the pieces together afterwards. Tony was a genius after all. Being a Keeper himself, Stephen had to be fleeing from other Sorcerers who had to be after him for his insane powers. Thus he knew that he had to find this other Soulkeeper who was also a person of interest quickly before he or she met a similar grim fate. By the looks of things this group of rogue magic-users had to be related or was under this so-called Black Order that was mentioned earlier. 

_In conclusion: Black Order- bad Sorcerers. Keepers- good Sorcerers._ The Order was on a hunt for extra-magical Sorcerers and Stephen was attempting some sort of liberation plan to make sure it didn’t happen. 

Tony had pondered about this before but this just confirmed his findings that there was seriously something really fucked up in the Magical Land of the Sorcerers. Well, he had to be equally fucked as well because the blacksmith realized that he wanted to know more. _He wanted to help._

“And how are you going to find this last Keeper?” Stretching from his stiff position, Tony stole a glance at the Sorcerer, arching a brow. “By walking through the entire plains of America?” 

A sly grin crossed Stephen’s face at the challenge. “I keep forgetting that there’s so much that you don’t know.” Curiously, Tony watched as the Sorcerer pulled a small rust-colored rectangular object out of his robes. There were two circular finger-sized holes that was attached to the base of the dull gold. Smoothly, Stephen pushed the contraption through his pointer and middle finger until it came to rest inches above his knuckles. Turning to the blacksmith, the Sorcerer asked with a touch of mischief. 

“You ready to get mind-blown again?”

“Are you telling me that you harnessing the power of freaking _time_ wasn’t the surprise you were talking about?!” 

“Like I said, that was just a bonus.” 

With a single fluid motion, Stephen lifted his left hand with the brass-knuckle like object so his fingers were pointed to the sky. Raising his right hand, he started to make circular motions in the air in front of him. 

Bemused, Tony tilted his head to the left, puzzled as nothing was happening- oh hey was that a circle glowing? Golden light flickering spasmodically and there was a flash of static and an explosion of sparks. Before the blacksmith could even finishing blinking the sharp glare out of his eyes there in front of him was a portal.

A magic portal conjured out of thin air.

 _A fucking magical portal was supernaturally conjured out of thin air._

Let it be said today that Tony officially could not determine between normality and this new reality of never-ending surprises any longer.

“T-That- hell- Stephen _oh my GOD!”_

Stephen skipped, the good-for-nothing Sorcerer actually had the bloody nerve to _skip_ through the portal and onto the other side with that stupid cheeky grin etched permemantly on his beautiful face. 

“Harnessing the power of the sling ring allows us to travel great distances in an instant.” Stepping out of the portal again leading to God-knows where, Stephen beckoned Tony to follow. 

“Come with me Tony. Walk with me. Let me show you all you don’t know.” 

Despite everything that he had been exposed to, the blacksmith found that he couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t do it. Feebly, Tony felt his breath hitch in distress as he admitted meekly, “I… I c-can’t- I’m-” 

_I’m scared._

“I’ll help you not to be.” 

Warm hands captured his own and Tony gasped as he jerked his head up in shock at the unexpected but not unwelcomed contact. Stephen’s scarred hands had encircled his own rough ones with tenderness the blacksmith did not know the Sorcerer’s fragile hands possessed. 

Breathlessly, Tony felt his heart pound twice as fast as he felt the pad of Stephen’s thumb gently brushed the back of his hand. His surprisingly long fingers curled and came to rest on the underside of Tony’s calloused palm sending a jolt of electricity through the blacksmith’s body. 

Like the fateful day in the forest, Tony could do nothing but peer into the familiar glowing inhuman eyes that always had him transfixed in wonder. They were ever-changing and welcoming, the epitome of calm in the sea of chaos. Protecting. Comforting. _Safe_. 

Swallowing his fear, the blacksmith took a shaky breath of air, “Just… just don’t let go.” 

With a fond smile, Stephen lowered his head and held firm onto their interwoven hands. 

“I would never let you go, Tony.” 

Gingerly, Stephen gave his clammy fingers a gentle squeeze before taking a step backwards towards the portal. Tony followed, his entire body trembling with anticipation as he got closer to the blazing gates of gold. But Stephen’s gaze never once wavered and not once did Tony look away. 

_Six feet._

_Three feet._

_One feet-_

The steady hum of pure magic swirled around the blacksmith and Tony felt the hair on his skin prickle as warmth washed over him like the benign touch of sunlight. Unconsciously, he tightened his grip over Stephen’s. An odd encompassing feeling of _safety_ flowed over him and in that moment Tony knew nothing will ever be the same again.

Hand in hand, Man and Magic emerged on the other side of the portal stepping into a new world. 

Together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *squeals* I thought I could never one-up my previous chapter but boy did I truly surprise myself. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the fluff! ~~while it lasts!~~


	10. Tears Of A Torn Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bonus mid-story chapter (we have reached the halfway point of the fic yay!) decidedly written in 3rd person’s point of view.

_“They say before you start a war, you better know what you’re fighting for.”_

_\- The Cab, Angel with a shotgun_

* * *

Deep in the town of Genevra, something of great importance was currently taking place. The duo flags surrounding the tower of the high council were raised, symbolizing that a meeting between the scribes, the healers and the many high-ranking personalle of town was commencing. 

Seated at the head of the table was Chief Fury in all his grandeur. Flanking him were battle tactician Phil Coulson and SIC Maria Hill. Settled on the sides were individual representations of the different segments in town that allowed Genevra to run smoothly and safely. Amongst the many men and women present were Steven Rogers, Captain of the Trackers and his marksman, Clinton Barton, T’Challa, Leader of the Hunters and his co-partner Brock Rumlow, Doctor Bruce Banner, the town’s main healer, Obadiah Stane, Head of the Blacksmiths and his second Anthony Stark and finally the town’s leading scribe, Alexander Pierce. 

The people were muttering amongst themselves, each wondering why they were suddenly called in for a rather last minute meeting. There was a jarring sound of a gavel hitting stone, indicating for order as the clearing was dropped into a quiet hush of voices. 

Clasping his hands in front of him and facing his people, Fury begun. “The council is gathered here today to discuss the real and rising threat of magic-users that had recently been spotted in the dozen on the outskirts of our neighboring towns.” Gesturing with a wave to his tactician, Phil Coulson smoothly carried on.

“The town of Jocasta had reported that like us, they recently had a clash with several Sorcerers,” squinting at the parchment under the dim light, Coulson continued with a worried, furrowed brow. “However, unlike us, it had been noted by their Captain that his team had been overwhelmed by the unexpected firepower they were exposed to.” 

“They saw and I quote ‘ _Magic the color of the darkest shadows which reduced all it touched into dust and ash_ ’. Thankfully, their men made it out without casualties. But this is the first time in a while where Sorcerers of such power had returned back to the field.”

Murmurs of uncertainty ripped through the crowd at the ominous words as Coulson sat back down silently. 

“So they are getting stronger. And growing by the number as well.” 

“How can it be? We have crushed their strongholds and seized their supplies. Where are they gaining all these extra power from?”

“What about next time? What if they attack us? Are our defenses strong enough?”

Clearing his throat, Rogers stood up to address the concerns. “My company and I have been diligently patrolling Genevra’s perimeters and other than the three rogues we spotted at the borders months ago there have not been any recent Sorcerer activities that we know off.” 

“Nevertheless, we have been receiving state-of-the art weaponry from the blacksmiths to increase our defenses. When the time comes, we will be ready.” The representatives nodded muted at the Captain’s acknowledgement. 

“Can we have a status update for weapons?” Fury barked from the head of the table as he glanced over to the blacksmiths present, “Stane? Stark?”

The metal chair screeched against the stone tiles eerily as the Head Blacksmith rose to present his update. 

“It has been almost 30 years and still we don’t fully understand how a Sorcerer move in combat.” Stane sniffed noncommittally, turning around to face the members of Genevra. “They are too unpredictable, thus our weapons has been forged primarily on the side of defense instead of offense. If only we could understand how these scumbags fight and the way their magic work…” 

* * *

_“Some Sorcerers are quite weak and limited in their spell-casting abilities, while others are frighteningly strong. A weaker Sorcerer, or a ‘low-powered’ Sorcerer as you Man call us, may learn as many spells as he would like, but it will not increase his raw magical power. Their magic drains easily when used excessively in a fight as a result. I suspect these are normally the ones that Man come in contact with.”_

_“What about you Stephen? Or the other higher-powered Sorcerers?_

_Say I happen to meet a mean one as powerful as you in the forest, what’s my best defense against them other than brute force and targeting the hands or face?”_

_“Your best shot? It’ll be capturing our hands from behind and binding them together or pinning them down tightly with something that we can’t get out of. We can’t harness our magic without the use of our hands._

_From personal experience I can tell you with great confirmation that crippling them wouldn’t be enough to stop us._

_And if you had somehow managed that, you have however long to quickly subdue us before we get out of the restraints manually and, or magically depending on how much strength we have left._

_Instead of fighting us from afar like Man have been doing for decades, try to engage us in close quarter combat right from the start. Contrary to popular belief, we have been relying on magic so often that we have been failing bodily. A swift kick or a direct strike to our sternum or chest area will probably knock us out easier than expected._

_Because that’s where our magic is most concentrated and that’s where we are most vulnerable. This is why you’ll hardly see a Sorcerer battle in close contact. Even the strongest of us know that Man is mightier in that field.”_

_“W-Why are you telling me all this? Do you know how many of us would kill to gain information like this? I could easily just go back to Genevra and report back to my tacticians. We could majorly turn the tide of this war in our favour before the next winter!”_

_“You could. And perhaps the world would be all the lesser for it. But there are just too many of us who are corrupted by power, growing through tyranny or pressed into submission. I’m afraid that we... might be beyond saving._

_But, I trust you Tony. I know a man like you would not abuse the power given to you. If you were a lesser man you would have killed me when you first found me. But you didn’t. Have you ever asked yourself: Why?”_

* * *

A quiet hush settled upon the people gathered as all head swiveled to a sole individual who had been the only one who had yet to speak in the course of the entire meeting and who had also remained unnaturally silent throughout the entire duration of his superior’s report. Sitting opposite from him, Rogers frowned as he repeated his question again for the second time, trying to probe an answer out of the younger blacksmith but to no avail. Narrowing his eyes at the diverted attention, Stane cuffed the back of his subordinate’s head non-to gently. 

“Anthony! Have you been listening to a single thing I’ve said?” 

Flinching sharply, Stark jerked up at the rough slap to the back of his cranium and visibly shook himself out of his stupor. Scowling, he rubbed the aforementioned spot in disgust before realizing that all eyes were on him. Gathering himself hastily, the younger blacksmith cleared his throat hoarsely. 

“Right, uh right. My apologies, I think I’m feeling under the weather today.” There was a faraway look in his eyes, as if he wasn’t quite in the room at the moment. “Could you repeat yourself again Captain?” 

The query came out uncharacteristically flat and said Captain made a mental note to seek out the blacksmith after the meeting to check on him. Regardless, there was nothing more he could do now. Schooling his features, Rogers asked for the second time. 

“Stane mentioned that you were in the middle of an upgrade for Barton? How is the progress going?” Beside him, his Marksman straightened up in his chair, interest piqued with the mention of his name.

“Y-Yeah I’m working on serrating the tips of all the arrowheads,” chewing on his lip, Stark glanced away distractedly, seemingly deep in thought, “It’s still a work-in-progress. I’ll inform you when it has all been fully completed.” 

Rogers nodded, contented with the report and readied himself to settle back in his seat. But then a sudden memory came to mind and he decided that it was significant enough to share it with the council. Locking eyes with the younger blacksmith, the Captain faced the people and announced with fervor. 

“A few weeks ago, Stark and I had an interesting discussion that was rather note-worthy.” 

There was a curious murmuring that rolled around the people gathered at the table, so much so that no one noticed the flash of alarm that flitted across the face of an individual seated amongst them. 

“He brought up a strange yet intriguing topic relating to Sorcerers and their magic. Currently, we do not have the means to harness the power of our foes but perhaps if we put our minds together, this idea of Stark’s would not be that far from becoming reality…”

* * *

_“We are born with all of the power that we will ever possess. Even as a Keeper. My Ability had remained dormant till I managed to activate it after I turned 21. Perhaps I have more potential, but I’ll never know until it until it ‘unlocks’ in layman’s term, I guess.”_

_“Hm? What do you mean by that?”_

_“I was unaware that I was able to manipulate the essence of time before. All this while I had been just tapping on a tiny portion of my Ability. After W- a friend told me otherwise, I begun to experiment with my magic while recovering in the caverns.”_

_“So the thing you did with the sunflower? It was something you discovered you could do all by yourself?”_

_“Indeed. It seems that there are still so much I do not know about myself. Perhaps the mystery of the origin nature of our supernatural abilities could be found in our blood. However, regardless of whatever extent of magic we have, we cannot gain or create more power. That is carved in stone.”_

_“But like you said, something had changed the rules of nature hasn’t it? Is it true that now said power can be...Taken by an individual unrelated to Man? Who is responsible for that Stephen?”_

* * *

The atmosphere of the meeting room of the high council was ablaze in a myriad of voices and drowned in intense conversation. The idea of creating a certain contraption that could extract magic from the very monsters that prowled in the darkness and terrorized Man for decades was unheard of. However, it certainly had gotten the attention of the majority of the occupants of the table.

“How have we never thought of something like this before? That’s ingenious!” Rumlow voiced out with an impressed nod. From his side of the table, Barton puckered his lips mirroring the Hunter’s reaction before commenting himself. 

“If that magic-sucking thing actually came to life it’ll sure make our lives as Trackers a whole lot easier.” Murmurs of agreement rang out amongst the crowd and Fury motioned for someone to start taking minutes for future references. 

“We would need to capture a Sorcerer in order for any of this to happen first though.” Beginning to brainstorm ideas, Stane tossed in his two-cents thoughtfully, “I doubt Stark can come up with this power assimilator without a guinea pig to experiment on.”

“That would prove to be a little difficult seeing how we don’t have the means in securing one yet. They are hard enough to drive off as it is.” Rogers admitted, scratching the back of his head wistfully. “Besides this was discussed merely in theory, we’re not sure if such a thing can be created in the first place.”

Several eyes darted towards the town’s doctor as Banner suddenly stood up shakily looking a little pale.

“I’m afraid I cannot condone this. It is inhumane-”

“You don’t win wars with niceness, Doctor.” Pierce interrupted curtly from his side. “You win wars with guts.” 

“I’ve been studying Sorcerers and recording their every move for the last ten years and it has all boiled down to an identical conclusion.” The scribe spoke up once more, straightening a pile of crumpled parchment and written notes into a neat stack near his elbow. Narrowing his eyes, Banner bit back a sharp retort as the voice of the Chief rang out. 

“And to what conclusion had you arrived to Alexander?” 

With a sweeping glance to the people at the table and a respectful nod at Fury, Pierce announced with an air of confidence. “Sorcerers are merely a bunch of apathetic and emotionless creatures. They have no sense of right or wrong- just plain destruction.”

“How would you know?” Someone in the crowd asked with genuine curiosity. “Have you talked to one?”

“I have fought one, the only language they seem to comprehend clearly is violence.” Barton retorted flippantly, crossing his arms around his chest almost daring anyone to talk back again.

“Look at the way they attack like erratic savages. Even their kills are done without reason. Is that not proof enough-” 

There was a sudden screeching of a chair being pushed out violently. The owner of said chair shoved it aside with such intensity that it toppled over with a resounding bang of metal against cobblestone. All conversation and discussion tittered off into broken-up silence as Stark stood, almost doubled over the side of the table. His hands were braced on the wooden surface, his chest heaving violently almost as if he couldn’t take in a proper breath of air. 

“Pardon me Chief.” The younger blacksmith choked out rather tersely looking as if he was going to topple over at any moment. 

“I don’t feel so good, permission to be excused from the remainder of the meeting.”

Without waiting for an acknowledgement, Stark slung his rucksack over a shoulder and staggered out of the meeting room before anyone could stop him.

Much to the surprise of everyone, the Captain left the company of people as well and followed swiftly after the fleeing blacksmith. 

“Excuse me too, I’ll go check on him.” Rogers tossed over his back cooly. 

“We do need Stark with us if we are to complete this project after all.” 

Stane wrinkled his nose in disdain at his second’s abrupt departure and the lack of professionalism from the leader of the Trackers. He expected this type of insubordination in Stark but did not expect it coming from the Captain as well. T-Challa sighed heavily and muttered to Rumlow about ‘ _overprotective not-boyfriends’_. 

It was no secret that Rogers had been developing feelings for Stark, half of the Trackers and Hunters alike was very well aware of that fact. In fact, there was a growing pool of credits accumulating under the table of Genevra on how long it would take for Rogers to finally ask the younger man out officially.

Banner was torn between catching up with the pair or leaving the blacksmith in the Captain’s capable hands, the doctor in him undoubtedly worrying about the state of his friend. Stark truly looked like he had ingested something nasty and was one step away from throwing up. 

Seeing that there was really no use continuing with two of Genevra’s finest out and with half the room in shambles, Fury muttered several words of profanity under his breath and slammed the gravel on his stand, indicating a quick intercession. Shrugging, Barton kicked his legs up onto his superior’s now empty chair and smirked at the scribe beside him who curled his lips in displeasure. 

“What? Rogers is as close to a blond demigod Genevra will ever get. I’ll die for the man but not before I get a chance to dirty his ‘throne’ a little hah!” 

* * *

_“There’s nothing we can do against The Titan. He’s a God with power beyond imagination. No one had ever fully laid eyes on Him, yet alone dare to overthrow the order. They follow His every command and some are very ready to die for the Order.”_

_“But you have never actually_ seen _this Titan you say?”_

_“From my... experience yes. I have not visibly seen him with my own two eyes. A blinding spell would be casted on all Sorcerers who enters the Throne Room. Before H-He- forcefully takes what doesn’t belong to Him”_

_“Then how are you so certain the guy’s unbeatable? If I’m following correctly, you were incapacitated and had no chance against this guy._

_But now things are different, are they not? Think about it, maybe he’s just a sick coward who has to feed on the strengths of others just to be superior. You have the power of freaking time at your side. You shouldn’t be afraid Stephen.”_

_If you could make God bleed, people would cease to believe in Him.”_

* * *

The sound of horrible retching filled the air in the alleyway between the hightowers outside. A lone figure stood trembling and hunched over in the shadows of the side of the walls, hugging his midsection miserably. And it was at that exact place where the Captain found their wayward blacksmith. 

Padding softly up to his friend, Rogers winced as he placed a careful hand on the small of the man’s back. With a soft voice, he asked gently, “Tony? Hey what’s wrong, are you alright?”

Pushing away the offered hand roughly, the blacksmith braced both his palm on the side of the wall, refusing to even look at the Captain. 

“Do I _look_ alright to you Rogers?” Shakily, Stark swiped the edge of his mouth with the back of his hand, looking small and miserable. “H-how could you tell the council _everything_ we had discussed?”

_“Is killing them not enough?”_

If Rogers had not listened closely, he would have missed the soft but shocking admission of despair coming from his friend. Nevertheless, the Captain’s jaw dropped open incredulously as he heard the blacksmith’s unmistakable next words.

“Now we are going to strip the most intimate part of them away _just because we can?_ ” 

Furrowing his brow, the Captain was understandably confused and he vocalized it clearly. “I don’t understand. Why are you talking like this?” Defensively, Rogers continued with a sturdy justification of his own. “And hey as far as I remembered, _you_ were the one that came to me with the question! I merely thought to share what you shared with me to the rest! Was that so wrong of me?”

“Besides, isn’t that what you have always wanted Tony? Isn’t that why you became a blacksmith? To avenge the fallen?” 

Spinning around, Stark clenched his jaw and shot the Captain with a venomous glare that seemed to have come out of the blue. His brown eyes was ablaze with an intensity his friend was unfamiliar with. “W-Well I never imagined that it would come to _this!_ ” 

“Can’t you see it Steve? Under all the magic... They are still like us. They are still- _human_.” There was a tinge of desperation in the man’s words, almost like he was trying to get Rogers to see something that the Tracker was blind to. 

“Exactly, we have proven that they do bleed like us and thus can be killed like us as well.” Rogers retorted in return, not understanding what Stark was trying to bring across. 

“Once we figure out how to exploit their magic and use it against them we can finally wipe them once and for all-.” 

Frowning, Rogers lost his train of thought when a visible look of horror and revolt crossed the blacksmith’s face and Stark blanched, looking for all the world as if the Captain had spoken words to condemn the Chief of Genevra to death instead. 

“I-I that, h-how- _God_ , are you even hearing yourself?” With a bitter laugh, Stark shook his head coldly. His whole body was wracked in tiny tremors and a sound akin to a whimper emitted from his throat that was as dry as sandpaper. 

“I don’t want to be a part of this. Not anymore.” 

Feeling the gradual flames of fury rising from the uncanny and morbid direction this conversation was going to, Rogers gave up on trying to play nice. Stark was crawling closer and closer to treason and the Captain struggled to figure out how this man who was once Genevra’s best weapons blacksmith and good friend suddenly transformed into a cold and aloof tr- stranger. 

“Fine! I just had it with your attitude towards me. We don’t need your consent to fight this war. With or without this creation of yours, we will still win in the end. It’s just a matter of _how_ and _when_.” Curling his lip, Rogers pierced the man with an icy glare. 

“We have unity and strength in numbers. There will be blood in the water and the sharks will come. All we have to do is sit back and watch as the power of humanity consumes them.” It was the inevitable truth. Stark had to know that as well and the pain that flashed across his face was proof. Proof to Rogers that _something was not right with his friend._

“I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into you but you have to snap out of it. Now. We need Stark, the weapons blacksmith not Tony the sudden pacifist. So until you get your head straightened out come and find me and we can pick this discussion up where we left off.” 

Shuddering, Rogers watched as Stark picked himself up from where he was leaning against the coldness of the wall and turned his back upon the Captain and his harsh words of reality. 

The blacksmith’s vision was blurring with unshed tears, the unspoken turmoil of emotions raging inside of him proving too much to bear but he refused to let them fall in the presence of the Tracker. Instead, Stark chose to walk away silently before anymore rash words could be exchanged.

This time, as the ground between the blacksmith and the Captain grew, the latter did not make any move to offer comfort or support. Instead, Rogers’s gaze darkened and if looks could kill, Stark knew that his friend would have long burnt a fiery chasm through him. 

“A storm is coming Tony.” The ominous words were the only consolation left in his fleeting wake as the Tracker’s baritone echoed through the cobblestoned alleyway.

“And you better figure out who’s side you are on before it’s too late."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The starting quote from The Cab is pretty suiting for this chapter, is it not? Also I’m truly horrible at ensuring that the characters in my story remain happy. My bad. Please don’t pelt me with stones. 
> 
> If this new way of writing isn’t working for you don’t sweat because it’s not working for me either xD Since it was the 10th chapter, I just wanted to experiment with different styles of writing But eh 3rd person's view isn't cutting it for me. 


	11. Duality of Man

_"As the presence of those we love is as a double life,_ __So absence, in its anxious longing and sense of vacancy,_ _is as a foretaste of death."__

_-Anna Brownell Jameson_

* * *

After months of scorching sun, the first sights of grey clouds began to gather in the sky like a heavy dark blanket. A huge storm was approaching from the east and by the looks of things it was going to be the biggest one to hit Genevra yet. The farmers were quick to wrangle their livestock into barns and crops were quickly harvested. Sandbags were distributed and houses reinforced. 

The preparations were not in vain and the predictions were startling accurate because when the last of the bags were handled out, the thunderstorm came in full-force and the floodgates in the sky were unleashed.

For the last 72 hours or so, the rain poured on endlessly, soaking the whole town to the bone. Visibility was so low that on the first day The Captain had placed border patrol on a temporary recess. To protect the armory from threats of flooding, Stane gave all blacksmiths several days off and locked up _The Forge_. Everyone stayed home, seeking solace from the elements. 

All in all, it was wet, cold and miserable in Genevra. 

Peter was definitely not looking forward to long wet days on end. Rain brought with it cold memories the teen rather forget and plunged everything into a monotonous wash of grey. And with it his mind and spirit as well, reducing him into a dull, emotional mess. 

“Well there you are Pete.” The youngster jerked a little as he missed Tony’s entrance to his bedroom. Huffing listlessly, the teen muttered something inaudible and burrowed further under his duvet stubbornly. He knew his mentor was only coming in to check on him after 2 days of being stuck indoors himself but Peter really couldn’t bring himself to care. It had been a rather awful week even before the storm rolled in and besides today was Saturday so he was not going to leave his house if he could help it. 

Within the last fortnight, Aunt May had been pestering him non-stop and being an overprotective mother hen. She liked that Peter was now apprenticed under Tony but did not approve of him constantly spending his off-hours with the blacksmith out in the forest.

 _“You spend way to long working Peter. Mr Stark is your mentor but it doesn’t mean you have to be with him all 7 days of the week!”_ She had remarked one day at dinner and the teen had to hastily bite down a rash reply before he gave away his strange secret. Literally.

_“If he is pushing you too hard or giving you too much overtime you can come to me and I’ll kick his ass.”_

As comical as it would be to see Tony running away with a furious Aunt May chasing the blacksmith with a broom, Peter knew that _that_ was far from the truth. 

How on earth could he tell his aunt that in his free time on weekends and occasionally after work, Peter would go into the forest with his mentor to meet with a Sorcerer that was hiding in a cave at the bottom of a ravine? 

Not long ago, the only exposure he had with Sorcerers were from the scribes’ libraries, reports on parchments and second-hand stories from Trackers. And Peter had realized that not one of them had accurately portrayed the reality of what Stephen actually was as a person. Encountering one in the very flesh and actually having a conversation with him without the fear of getting slain was a rare and precious opportunity to be wasted on other trivial things that had dulled in comparison to his meetings with Stephen. Mr Stark had clearly realized that as well, his mentor had been rather consistent with his visitations. 

Unlike people here in Genevra, Stephen had the patience of a saint and was always there to listen to what Peter had to say. Levi never failed to greet him with zealous excitement and frankly the teen was still reeling from the fact that he was given actual permission to named a magical cloak. It was simply insane to see how _wrong_ mankind had been against the vast population of these magic-users simply because they were different.

Thus Peter had been sacrificing every free moment he had (once he had Mr Stark’s good graces to follow) to slip out of the gates and visit the marvel of the supernatural who never ceased to make his entire day.

But not everyone was happy with him constantly going MIA. His friends in town had been growing weary of Peter’s excuses for declining hangouts and missing after-work errands and other duties. After cancelling on them for the fourth time, Shuri snapped in a fit of anger, shocking Peter right to his core. 

_“Look I know you have responsibilities with Mr Stark and all but if you keep abandoning your posts and taking us all for granted to cover up for you and pull your extra-weight around town, you can just forget about it Parker!”_

Torn between man and magic, Peter found himself unable to choose between the two and it only made the chasm between him and his companions greater.

As if things were not frustrating enough, Stane was also giving him so much bullshit, especially when Tony was not around. From bullying him to take on extra projects and constantly berating him for being tardy, Peter was on his last string of patience. 

_“Anthony has been giving you too many free passes. Maybe it’s time I do something about that.”_

It was all taking a toll on Peter. He was tired of lying to the people who were closest to him. He was tired of getting pushed into submission. He was tired of sneaking around and covering his tracks. The consequential secret hidden in the cavern was weighing heavily on his heart. At the rate that everything was going, Peter was deathly afraid that he might one day be responsible for revealing Stephen’s discovery to the entirety of Genevra. 

He couldn’t even start to imagine the devastating consequences that were to follow that very possible blunder. 

Peter was more than ready to rant his fears and discontentment to Mr Stark. His mentor could possibly be the only one who could fully relate to his growing worries in proper context. Surely he must be having a hard time living his dual life too. 

But the teen knew deep down that his mentor was having an absolutely different experience altogether. Days following after the first meeting with Stephen, Tony had poured out his entire history that he had with the Sorcerers. From his parents falling under enemy hands, to his battle scars that almost took his life and finally the accumulation of seething hate and pain he had carried with him all these years against the people of magic. 

Peter finally understood why Tony acted the way he did in the cavern on that fateful day.

And thus following that episode, Peter had been doing what he did best- observing, listening and watching attentively. Of everything he had noticed, the most significant had been observing how the forbidden budding friendship between his mentor and Stephen had been developing overtime. From flinching at the very sight of Stephen’s magic and merely tending to his wounds, to going out of his way to make sure the Sorcerer did not go hungry and risking everything by accompanying him with almost daily visits, his mentor had truly been on a rollercoaster of emotions. 

On that unforgettable day where butterflies inundated _The Forge,_ Tony was positively glowing with a silly smile on his normally stoic face. It was like nothing the teen had ever seen before. And he knew immediately that they were from Stephen. 

It was the Sorcerer’s magical gift that had followed his mentor home, literally and figuratively. 

So Peter had decided to bury his woes deep in his heart. Mr Stark deserved happiness. And if it was to be given by a Sorcerer so be it. He did not want to burden his mentor with his alarming thoughts. Besides, the teen knew Stephen was truly one of a kind and would do everything in his power to keep them both safe and they would do the same for him in a heartbeat. 

His duvet was gently pulled away to uncover his face and Peter shoved his feelings into a pit. Raising his head up only to reveal Tony’s concerned gaze directed at him, the teen groaned: Leave it up to his mentor to get worried over him just because he was sleeping in. 

Alright maybe it wasn’t just the sleeping in. 

“A penny for your thoughts?” The blacksmith asked as he sat on the edge of his bed and stared out of the rain-streaked window with a wistful look on his face.

“Or are you thinking about the same thing that I’m thinking of right now?”

Oh Peter sure knew who exactly was currently occupying Mr Stark’s cranium. Tony wore his heart on his sleeve when he was around people he trusted and the teen could see right through him like a piece of glass. 

Sighing a little, Peter decided to amuse his mentor as a distraction. Tony, who had not left Genevra ever since the storm arrived, was clearly worrying about the Sorcerer’s welfare. Hopefully Stephen had managed to find a safe and dry spot in the cave and was waiting out the storm as they were.

Briefly, Peter also remembered overhearing the gossip in the marketplace that his mentor had walked out of a meeting with the Chief and the other high-ranking personnel of Genevra days before the storm. Apparently there was a rather big verbal spat that went down between the blacksmith and the Captain of the Trackers. Peter hadn’t had a chance to ask what that was all about yet though. Shrugging the thoughts away, Peter figured that it was probably nothing of importance anyway. Tony had a habit of curbing meetings and perhaps he finally had enough of the Captain’s attempts at courting him. 

“I spy with my little eye, something starting with the letter _‘S’_.”

“Don’t be obnoxious kid,” Tony rolled his eyes, feigning exasperation, “you can’t spy something that isn’t even here.” 

“HAH!” Peter yelled as his prediction proved to be spot on. “Got you! The answer was ‘Satchel’ by the way.” An unconscious smile spreading across his face, the teen snickered a little as his mentor’s face twisted with embarrassment.

“Yeah, I was totally going to say the ‘Sun’ as an answer. Because clearly that’s also not currently visible.” Swinging around, Tony turned to him, his miserable, troubled gaze suddenly morphing into excitement.

“Right! I never got a chance to tell you before but you’ll never believe what Stephen showed me the other da-”

The blacksmith’s was cut abruptly by the suddenly slam of Peter’s bedroom doors swinging open on its hinges. Jerking alert, the pair swivelled their heads in union to see a rather frazzled guardian. Peter swung out of bed immediately with concern.

“Aunt May? What’s wrong?”

“Pete. O-Oh god. Tony! Quick they want you in the medical clinic now!”

“The clini- I’m sorry what?” The blacksmith stood up quickly, closing the gap between them. Mirroring his mentor’s frown, the teen followed, worry pooling in his gut. But the next words that tumbled out of his guardian’s mouth turned Peter’s blood into ice.

“The Trackers were...were ambushed by S-Sorcerers while on patrol.” 

Tony visibly blanched and took a trembling step back colliding into the apprentice’s frozen form, not that Peter noticed because his world started to spin with wild intensity when horrifying words followed.

“Captain Rogers took a direct hit and… It’s bad.”

* * *

A heavy air of defeat hung over the group of Trackers hovering outside the medical clinic tentage like an unshakable shadow. Smudges of dirt on faces, stains of blood on tunics and broken weapons cast to the side in the muck, they stood lost and uncertain under the heavy drizzle. 

Shoving them aside, Tony shouldered his way through the men and women and slipped into the clinic without another word leaving Peter alone in the rain in his wake. The apprentice couldn’t bring himself to follow, the devastating announcement still burning in his heart. 

Rogers was one of the toughest Genevra had. And yet he had fallen under the hands of a Sorcerer no less. Another magic-user like Stephen. Patient, gentle Stephen who would not deliberately hurt a fly.

Peter felt like he was going to throw up. 

“Report, Barton.” The harsh voice of the Chief roared over the storm as Nick Fury seemingly materialized into the wet clearing flanked by his SIC and tactician. Barton got up where he was leaning against the side of the clinic walls his eyes turbulent and dark. Unbothered by the rain running down his face, the Marksman begun to give his grim statement.

“We were making our rounds at the eastern border. As the storm started to get heavier, Captain Rogers decided to make a final sweep west before heading back. But then we were attacked by 5 high-powered Sorcerers who came out of nowhere.” 

“The Sorcerers and their magic we encountered today was like no other we have seen before Sir. The reports from Jocasta were right.” A low murmur of agreement rippled through the surrounding men but Barton continued undeterred, as if he was concentrating with all his might to finish it quickly.

“Amongst them, one of them had magic that was dark and ebony. Almost black. There was not a single gold spark to be seen. It charred out weapons and broke out shields with just a single touch. Depleting Its powers was an impossibility.” 

“The lone magic-users we chased away easily months ago were mere scouting footsoldiers; messy and uncoordinated. This round however, we did not anticipate that they would have a leader amongst them. This is the first time we have seen order in their ranks.” 

“It proved too much for us to handle and Rogers-” his voice wavered, hitching painfully, “attempted to pull out but it was... too late.” 

An obvious wave of distress ruffled the crowd and Peter’s heart ached ferociously. But there was nothing he could do or say to make anything better. 

Romanoff pushed her way to the Marksman’s side. With a comforting hand on Barton’s shoulder, she finished for him promptly.

“Their intentions, although purely diabolical, however, did not seem to be triggered by our arrival. They were as surprised to see us as we were to them.” Narrowing her eyes and pushing her unruly red tangles from her face, Romanoff then concluded.

“It was almost like they were actively searching for someone and we just happened to stumble upon them and were merely in their way. Nevertheless, we have to send out a second team as soon as possible to flush out the Sorcerers who are still in the forest.”

Stifling a frustrated hiss of protest, Peter wondered why violence had to always be the endgame to all conflict. Not all Sorcerers were capable of such madness, it has been proven clear. Maybe if they stopped destroying one another and tried to listen! Perhaps they could see reason and realize that things did not always have to end in a fight- 

“ _Listen?_ ” Barton snarled, dark eyes swung around without warning, piercing the teen with such ferocity that it startled a yelp of surprise from him. Horror struck Peter like a blow to the stomach as it dawned on the teen that he had unintentionally verbalized his very thoughts out loud in front of the entire company of Trackers. 

_Fuck, fuckfuckfuck-_

“Do you think those abominations _listened_ when Steve ordered them to stand down?” The marksman leered with dripping malice causing Peter to step back, eyes widening in fear.

“No, they shot him right in the chest before he could even finish. They are ignorant savages and _cannot be understood._ I’ve said this once but I’ll say it again, _the only language they know is of violence and death._ ” 

Like gasoline to the fire, Barton’s harsh words of reality ignited and spurred similar emotions within the crowd of furious Trackers.

“You think these monsters can be reasoned with? You know nothing of any sort!”

“They’re all the same. They’re all abominations. How dare you say otherwise!” 

“What’s the schmuck doing here anyway?”

“Get that kid out of here before I lose it!” 

A feeble squeak left Peter as a rough hand pulled him hard and dragged him into the dry medical tent and out of sight from the horde of angry men.

“Are you suicidal?” Harley Keener hissed, glaring daggers at him, causing the teen to shrink back from the youngest Tracker. “Taking back in front of everyone like that? And in the presence of the Chief? What were you thinking!” 

Shaken and overwhelmed, Peter found that he was suddenly at a loss of words, unable to think or feel. 

Keener drew a long exhale and rubbed at his wet curls with the back of his hand before dropping his voice into an attempt to soothe. “Look you’re a good kid. I’m full of respect for Tony as well but not even he would be able to protect you if you let your mouth run free like that.”

Unable to suppress his roaring thoughts, Peter tried to find an answer to this mess. “Is wanting peace such an act of treason?” It came out as a meek whisper, drowned out by the roar of thunder that rumbled ominously outside. 

“No, but following your way of reasoning and empathizing with the enemy _is._ ” 

Lowering his gaze, Keener squeezed his eyes shut and suddenly sagged with exhaustion, looking twice as old as he was supposed to be. With a gentle grip on his upper arm, Peter was led deeper into the medical tent. 

“You want to know why we fervently disagree with you?” Pulling the last leather flap that separated the main medical area and the private wing, Keener gestured to Peter to enter. “Why don’t you take a look yourself? Mr Stark is probably somewhere in there with The Captain right n-”

The rest of Keener’s voice was lost to him as Peter took in the horrific scene taking place right in front of his very eyes. Peter thought nothing could top the witnessing a Sorcerer in the flesh for the first time but this, _this_ came a close traumatizing second. 

The great Captain was laid out on his back, pale as a ghost and covered in a sheen of dirt, blood and sweat. His exposed chest was littered in a multitude of lacerations which was swaddled in bloody bandages but what was most frightening was the repulsive foreign dark lines blooming out from the Captain’s skin. It branched out from a deep jagged tear just above his right collarbone and ran down the length of his right muscled arm. Spiderwebs of ebony had started to wrap around the base of his neck and was starting to travel across his tattered chest. 

Peter’s breath hitched painfully in his throat. 

Mercifully, Rogers was deeply unconscious. But if the harsh lines that pulled at his brow and the obvious tensing of his body was of any indication, it was obvious that even comatose, he was in agony. Doctor Banner was shouting rapid-fire instructions across the noise of the rain to the other healers, his hands flying over syringes, metal contraptions and other complicated medical equipment Peter had never seen before. Medical jargon filled the air and Peter flinched as a thick needle the size of his finger was plunged into Roger’s chest, just above his heart. Deviant, black sludge filled the clear tube and quickly, Peter turned away, clamming a trembling hand over his mouth as his stomach rolled nauseatingly. 

“A Sorcerer did that Parker. He did that to our Captain.” Peter clammed his eyes shut, imploring the revolting image of a dying Steve Rogers to be expelled from his memory. Shivering, the teen felt Keener rubbing his shoulders in a comforting gesture half-heartedly as he continued.

“They’re ruthless, cruel and they all deserve to be destroyed. We have to kill them before they kill us.”

Sniffing coldly, the young Tracker shook his head in disdain. “But you wouldn’t know, would you? You don’t know anything about Sorcerers.” 

“Next time just keep your damn thoughts to yourself and you wouldn’t get hurt.” Keener finished with a weak attempt of consolation. Giving him one last squeeze, the Tracker slinked out of the tent, leaving Peter paralyzed with the torrent of new information streaming in which clashed horrifically with knowledge he currently possessed. 

Then Tony Stark emerged from the private wing, looking for all the world like he had been a witness to the very essence of Death itself.

Desperate to cling onto a familiar support of comfort and safety after the vivid ordeal, Peter hurried after the blacksmith who stormed out of medical, glancing worriedly as his mentor’s face shifted into an emotionless and frightening blank slate. Pushing his way past the ogling Trackers, Tony surged forward in the direction of home ignoring Peter’s every attempt to speak to him. 

“Mr Stark, I-”

“Kid, go home.” 

“Look this entire situation has all gone to shit,” struggling to find his words and keeping his pace with Tony’s huge strides, Peter tried again, “but I need to tel-”

“I can’t handle this right now. I can’t handle _you_ right now.”

The accumulation of days of injustice and bitterness bubbled to the surface and with a furious cry Peter exploded, throwing with it all the bundled-up frustrations and turmoil. 

“Why can’t anybody just _listen to me!”_

Spinning around, the blacksmith came to a stop in the empty road, brown eyes flashing as lightning illuminated the sky above. 

“I did fucking listen, kid!” Drops of water flowed off his trembling fists by his side as Tony snapped, seething rage of his own breaking free.

“ _And look where that brought us!”_

“If Banner isn’t able to reverse the infection that is currently running its course through Steve right now, he is not going to make it into the next week. Someone whom I’ve known for so long and had cared deeply about as a friend is going to die from the hand of _a Sorcerer.”_

“And for the past month have we not been fraternizing with one right under their very noses? What does that make us?” At Peter’s stunned silence, Tony’s face twisted ferally as he unleashed his fury upon the teen in a scream of desperation.

“Tell me what does that _make us_ Peter!” 

Swallowing a whimper at the furious intensity directed at him, Peter vainly worked his trembling jaw to come up with a reply. The blood roaring in his ears threatening to swallow him whole as he tried to figure out why his mentor had suddenly turned this apocalyptic. 

“I-I thought you…It’s n-not-” his brain wracked painfully with the onslaught of pressing information and at his mentor’s disturbing change in heart, “I-I just wanted to be like you!” 

“And I wanted you to be better.”

The harsh, jarring retort struck Peter right to his core with a cold wash of finality.

 _Not you too Mr Stark._ Hot tears pricked his eyes as Peter silently implored the man who he had considered a father and who had never let him down. _Please don’t cast me aside like everyone else did. Please take your words back, don’t be mad at me. Please don’t go. Please... I have no one else-_

“I guess, _I was wrong_.” Abruptly, Tony turned his heel and walked away, ignorant to his consequential shattering words which was the final blow that crushed Peter’s heart without an ounce of mercy. 

There in the middle of the empty road, standing under the torrential rain as his hair plastered onto his scalp, feeling the coldness of the elements seeping into his bones and hearing nothing by the whispers of his mentor’s last fleeting words, Peter had never felt so _alone_. 

It was too much. It was all too much for him to bear all in one day.

Trembling but not because of the harsh elements, Peter pulled his windbreaker closer to his body and broke into a run. He had to get out of here. He couldn’t stay in a place that had nothing but endless waves of animosity, unfairness and prejudice constantly thrown at his face. With a soul-wracking sob, Peter realized that Tony had done the same and had seemingly given up on him as well. Was there truly no one left in town for him? 

_I guess I was wrong._

Perhaps if Peter had a clearer mind he would have seen the burning turmoil of agonizing and conflicting emotions that flashed in the blacksmith’s gaze as Tony hesitated and shakily turned back again, but wracked with crushing pain and heavy emptiness dominating his heart, Peter was blind and deaf to his mentor’s attempt at calling him back.

Without a second glance back, Peter dashed out of the unmanned gates of Genevra and plunged into the darkness of the forest. The storm raged on, the heavy droplets of rain pelting down from the skies pelted his skin and mixed with the salty tears streaming from his cheeks. The grass and leaves were slippery under his feet and the mud sloshed against his ankles and tugged against his shoes but Peter pushed on blindly through the trees with only one final destination in mind. 

Distantly, the teen remembered that the Sorcerer had once said he was a doctor of some sort as well. He would know what to do. 

Stephen would understand him.

Stephen would listen.

He had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #Pray4Steve  
> #TonyIsAMess  
> #GivePeterAHug 
> 
> If I found myself freezing and staring at my screen in horror with what I had done in this chapter, I wouldn't even start to guess how you would be feeling while reading this. I'll thus apologize in advance on what I'll plan to do in the next one.


	12. Cursed With Knowledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Murphy’s Law
> 
> Dedicated to @Stark_Raving_Strange for being a true gem <3

_"Is this real?_ _This cause I'm fighting for?_

 _Am I real?_ _I don't know anymore."_

_-Jonathan Thunlin, Coat of Arms_

* * *

“Tony, Sorcerers are very real.” 

_“Just give me one more day and we can start. I wouldn’t attempt to run again._ _”_

“I don’t want something big to happen for you to finally figure that out for yourself.” 

_“Is that not what Man do to creatures like us in return?”_

“With or without this creation of yours, we will still win in the end.”

_“It is almost like a circle of life with the touch of time and creation.”_

“A storm is coming Tony.”

_“I would never let you go, Tony.”_

“You better figure out who’s side you are on before it’s too late-”

* * *

Years ago, Tony Stark could say for certain that he had joined the winning team. It was an obligatory choice really but he was proud of it. He was proud of what they stood for. Humanity would be the one who would end the war between Man and Sorcerer and emerge victorious, bringing back peace to the lands they walked on. 

But then Stephen Strange was thrown into his life, transforming everything that had been once a simple black and white and morphing them into the greys of uncertainty. Stephen held his hand and opened his eyes to see the world from a new point of view. Proving to Tony again and again that the fear of the unknown was the one thing holding them back. Not only was it possible for humans and magic to survive together, it could thrive as _one_ in rich harmony- an endless beauty for anyone who was willing to accept it. 

As a result, Tony found himself viciously torn between the two worlds. Cursed with knowledge he gained each day, the blacksmith was unable to determine the good from the bad and unable to figure out the rights from wrongs. The nauseating council gathering he refused to sit through confirmed his thoughts on the rigidity of how Genevra still viewed the Sorcerers as. The sheer amount of excitement that rouse from the people at the idea of harnessing power beyond their understanding was simply abominable. With churning disgust, Tony witness first-hand how far Man would go just to win.

In spite of everything that had occurred, the one thing that made it so revoltingly heart-wrenching was that, with the exception of Banner, no one else thought that what they were going to do was _wrong_.

It was outrageous. It was sickening. _It was utter and complete madness._

And the whispers of his heart echoed Stephen’s unforgettable words that was proclaimed with fervor:

_“And you people. You fear the unknown, cowering with malice at the very essence that makes us who we are. You judge us as wicked, our souls malevolent and brought it upon yourselves to take back control of the natural order. You attack and turn vicious when we remained a subject to be reckoned with._

_But despite the magic are we not flesh and blood and human as well?_

_Who is the monster now?”_

God, that seemed like a thousand years ago.

It was the final act which proved to him that Humanity had truly fallen from grace and that _Tony could not go on like this for any longer._

With rage ignited in the pit of his stomach, Tony cursed at his folly for thinking that his innocent question would go unnoticed. 

He cursed at Steve for exposing his thoughts to their people and weighing his shoulders down with the guilt of what he knew and the pressure and expectations Genevra would inevitably bestole on him. Tony swore on his parents’ graves that would chop both his arms off before even thinking of creating such an inhuman contraption: Because all he could think of was Stephen. Benevolent and gentle Stephen who did not deserve a single thing the world was throwing at him. 

Most of all, Tony cursed at the world for being without mercy. He cursed it for stranding him in the abyss between two worlds that could never find peace with each other. And he cursed it for giving him the free-will to _choose._

Alas, fate decided to make a decision for him by reminding him cruelly that the world would not stop spinning just because a man with a bleeding heart and a torn soul was lost.

Thus, as Tony gazed at the broken body of the Captain lying unmoving on the cot, the blacksmith knew that in the end, Steve was right. Tony should have made use of the knowledge he was given. He should have made weapons to exploit the weakness of the Sorcerers. He should have done something- _anything_. 

Steve was right. But it was too late. 

Storming out of the medical tent, brimming with emotions too scalding to be described and baggages of too much accumulated turmoil hanging from his neck, Tony was going to _destroy the next person who even dared to speak a word to him._

But of course, his life was doomed to be one pathetic cosmic joke because- 

_“I-I just wanted to be like you!”_

Why would Peter want to be an absolute failure like him? Tony was not strong enough. He couldn’t save his friends, he couldn’t save his people and he could not defend against his foe. 

Peter was the epitome of what humanity had stood for. His soul was pure and untainted by the horrors of war. His heart bleeding with endless compassion, empathy and love. Peter did not deserve a traitorous mentor like him dragging him downwards. Peter needed to be better. 

_“And I wanted you to be better.”_

Ever since Tony had experienced the benevolent touch of magic, he had a fleeting thought that maybe, just maybe, through the sheer power of a God-given miracle, the next Sorcerer who was encountered would be as benign as Stephen had been. Perhaps if his people saw for themselves, change could start from them. But deep down, Tony knew that it was an impossible feat. Blinded by the unfolding enigma that Stephen was and enthralled by everything that the Sorcerer had given to him, Tony had forgotten that there were always two sides to each coin. 

It was all too good to be true. Hope was but a mere fickle thing after all.

Almost in a daze, he couldn’t even recognize the brittle, almost strangulated words that left his throat.

_“I guess, I was wrong.”_

At the end of the day, regardless of what was said or believed, Sorcerers were just like Man. A rightful mirror image and reflection of humanity. They were both incapable of change as a whole. He had expected too much out of a situation that was so cruelly bleak. Tony should have _known better._

Shakily, Tony turned his back on his apprentice to allow the rain to hide the bitter tears that had suddenly found itself streaming down from his cheeks. Taking a few steps forward, he was determined not to allow Peter to see this moment of weakness. 

He had chosen Stephen over Rogers. A Sorcerer over the Captain of the Trackers. The supposed enemy over his friend. And now said Captain was dying because of a Sorcerer. 

Haunted by the last accusatory retort Steve had left for him, Tony couldn’t think, he couldn’t feel. Everything had narrowed into a winding tunnel of despair. The darkness threatening to swallow him whole, the fleeting light fading and with it Tony’s hope for the future of humanity’s morality. 

No… Not just for his future. 

Peter’s future as well.

Whipping around and violently shaking the rain cascading from his face, the blacksmith scanned the clearing desperately for his apprentice. At this point the only soul in Genevra that could fully understand what Tony was going through would be Peter. They had to stick together, especially in this dire time of need. 

There was a pitter-patter of feet and in that instance, Tony felt his heart shatter into a million shards as he saw his apprentice breaking into a run, ignoring his desperate attempts at calling him back.

The words Tony spat out in a fit of his anger came rushing back in waves, crushing mercilessly against his chest and rendering him completely breathless. Paralyzed, the blacksmith could only stand frozen in the rain as he heard the echoes of his own horrid voice raised with seething fury not too long ago. 

_“I did fucking listen, kid! And look where that brought us!”_

It graced them both with a new perspective to their lives. It showed to Tony that he was born to be more than a merchant of death. 

It granted them a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to interact with someone who was once considered an enemy. 

It gave him Stephen Strange, the Sorcerer of the caverns with ever-changing eyes and a beautiful smile. Stephen who gave him a chance to change in spite of the terrible first contact. Stephen who bent over backwards to make sure he was always comfortable, protected and safe. Stephen who brought to him the many priceless gifts both tangible and intangible. Stephen who brought Tony the happiness that Genevra could never give him.

_“Tell me what does that make us Peter!”_

It made them pure and simply, human. 

Humans who were filled with fear and emotions. Humans who made mistakes. Understanding, compassionate, empathetic humans. Humans that could change if they were given the chance to.

Because were they not both living proof of that very fact?

With a guttural roar, Tony squeezed his eyes shut and screamed his frustrations and unending turmoil into the crying skies where the thunder muted his broken voice and the rain washed the evidence of tears on his cheek.

He was truly a world-renowned failure. He failed as a Blacksmith. He failed as a friend. He failed as a mentor.

He was losing Steve. He wasn’t going to lose Peter as well. _He couldn’t._

Tony had to make it right. 

But first he had to catch up with his apprentice. He couldn’t let Peter believe that he was lost as well.

There was no one left in Genevra who could understand. There was not a single soul there who knew the real story on both sides. Squashing the forbording wave of dread rising up his throat, against all orders, Tony knew exactly where Peter was going.

_Back to where it all started._

* * *

The ravine was flooded. 

Fearfully, Peter skidded to a stop, his wet shoes slipping on the precipice of smooth rock as he peered into the valley on the edge of the familiar cliff he was standing on. The dried mud banks that once flanked the gentle river was completely swallowed up by the rapid surge of rainwater. The rope that was doubly reinforced and used to scale down the cliff-face had been flayed and ripped away at the end by the might of the current. Even the greenery and trees around the ravine side had been washed away violently. The unending storm that had wracked the area undoubtedly had overflowed the riverbanks- dangerously. 

Yeah, Peter was not going to even attempt to go anywhere near the ravine now. With a shudder, the teen backed away slowly until he was several yards away from the edge. He couldn’t imagine falling into the rapid waters now. 

A gust of wind ripped through the air and the rain did not show any signs of stopping. Uncovered by the trees, the cold was actually stinging, borderlining painful. Pulling his windbreaker tighter, Peter trudged on aimlessly. There was really no point in continuing really, the cavern was most likely flooded and Stephen was probably far, far away; hiding somewhere and waiting till the storm cleared. Besides, this idea of his was idiotic to start with anyway. At the rate he was going, Peter was probably going to catch pneumonia before he found the wayward Sorcerer. 

The anger against his mentor had simmered to a muted throb and was gradually fading with each step he took. Now with a steadily clearing mind, Peter found that he could not stop thinking of the barbed exchange earlier. 

Raising his face to the sky and allowing the rainwater to trickle down his cheeks and trail down his neck, Peter gripped firmly onto his shaking world and willed the chaos in his mind to stop. Closing his eyes, the teen could visualize nothing else but see the look of complete lost on the blacksmith’s face, the flash of anguish in his eyes and the way Tony’s words trembled with raw pulsing emotion.

_I guess I was wrong._

The stinging words echoed earlier pressed heavily against his heart like an unshakable leech. Alas, there was a strange feeling that the teen could not push away, because somehow deep in his soul, something was telling Peter that the accusatory words were not meant for him. 

Shifting his thoughts away from just himself, the teen tried to put himself in the shoes of his mentor. He didn’t have to try hard to see the world from Tony’s point of view. 

With an aching chest, Peter found that in the wake of this conflicting catastrophe between two different worlds perhaps he had not stopped to realize how devastating this dual life must have been for Tony as well. Bonding with the enemy, only to have their kind turn against Man so very viciously without warning. By the looks of things, the blacksmith was steadily falling apart at the seams and Peter had just been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

_God, what a fucking disaster._

Mr Stark might have lost hope but Peter hasn’t. He refused to. The world had shown to him that though it might have been lost there would always be something left for the teen to cling on. 

There had to be. Peter just had to find it-

An ominous sound of a twig snapping and the shifting of heavy footsteps in the muck resounded somewhere behind causing the teen to lose his train of thought. 

Teeth chattering and eyes wide, Peter swept the dark forest suddenly aware that he wasn’t alone. “W-Who’s t-t-there?” Battering the elements with a thin jacket was starting to take a toll on his body as his voice merely came out as a pathetic whisper. 

“Peter?”

The unmistakable voice broke through the thunderous rain and a familiar shape moved out into the clearing as the teen let out a sharp breath of relief he did not know he was holding. 

Drenched with streams of rainwater dripping from the sleeves of his jacket and panting rapidly as if he had ran a mile in minutes, was none other than Tony Stark in all of his grand glory. 

For a moment, mentor and apprentice could do nothing but stare at each other, both trapped in their own fleeting thoughts and brimming with thick emotions. But then in one swift, fluid movement, Tony closed the gap between them and a surprised _oof_ left the teen as Peter found himself unexpectedly engulfed into a tight hug.

“God Peter… You’re okay.” Calloused hands wrapped around his body and Peter found himself melting into the warm, comforting embrace. The days of uncertainty, stress and trauma radiated off his body in waves and suddenly Peter felt so, _so_ exhausted. 

“I-I thought I’d lost you. Oh God, I _-_ I’m so glad you’re safe.” Peter huffed mirthlessly as the ice around his heart thawing almost immediately at the mess of words rushing like a torrent out of Tony’s mouth. The protective grip on his shoulders did not loosen and Peter felt his mentor rest his chin atop his wet curls. The warmth in his heart growing, the teen wondered fleetingly if Tony was aware that he was embracing him like a father would do to a child.

“I’m so sorry Peter. I’m so sorry. Y-You’re are so damn important to me and I just… I just...Lost myself.”

Tony’s voice quivered painfully, oozing with remorse but with the rush of pure redemption and assurance that Peter so, _so_ desperately needed. Burrowing his cold nose against Tony’s sternum, Peter closed his eyes and leaned further into his mentor’s hug, mindful of his scars but just grateful for the moment of solace that he had been craving ever since the situation had gone south so spectacularly. 

Deep in his unconscious mind, Peter figured that he never wanted to allow this precious moment to end. But nature decided that it was due time to wrap it up and hurry them home as a huge gust of wind blew into the clearing that they were standing, soaking them both further to the bone. 

“Come on, he’s not going to be here.” Breaking the hug, Tony brought his trembling fingers up tenderly against Peter’s icy cheeks, brushing away stray water that was not from the skies. “I promise you bud. I swear to God that we _will come back_ to find Stephen once the storm breaks.”

“W-What are we going to do now?” Uncertainty for the future and the ambiguous fate of both Man and Sorcerer terrified the teen.

Tony had to have a plan. He always did. It was certainly not going to get any easier from this moment forward but together, Peter knew that there was still hope. 

“We will figure something out. Together, Stephen and I will come up with something. But it’s not safe here.”

Grabbing his arm gently, Tony pulled at Peter’s windbreaker, ensuring that it was tightly wrapped around his body before deciding on both their behalves to make a move.

“Let’s go Pete. Let’s go ho-” 

Abruptly, the blacksmith suddenly stopped short. 

Puzzled, Peter wondered why his mentor had cut himself off so suddenly. Tilting his head upwards and allowing the rain to wash his tears away, the teen saw that Tony had furrowed his brow and was gazing intently at something that had seemingly caught his eye in the forest. Curious now, Peter followed his mentor’s line of sight.

Squinting through the torrential downpour, Peter then spotted a pair of glowing eyes that was shimmering in the far end of the treeline. There was a vague outline of a person and a flash of familiar sparks which caused the teen to beam in anticipation. 

It looked like their wayward companion had not strayed far from their hideout after all.

In his excitement to be reunited with yet another familiar face, Peter did not notice the absence of a warm baritone greeting and the presence of a particularly animated Cloak. Nor did he see several other pairs of eyes emerging from the shadows or hear the silent rustling of leaves as nimble feet stepped over the wet earth and started to circle around mentor and apprentice. 

But Tony definitely did.

There was a split second where a look of pure horror crossed his mentor’s face and in that very moment, it dawned on the teen that the Sorcerer who had just melted out of the trees _was not Stephen-_

“Peter! GET DOWN!” 

Without warning, a blast of hot magic exploded onto the ground right in front of them, catapulting the pair backwards into the graveled clearing, showering them with dirt and smothering heat. Pain flared across his back as Peter was slammed heavily against stone, his world spinning amidst the sudden erupting chaos. 

Biting back a whimper, the teen blinked back a shock of rainwater obscuring his vision and tried to push himself up from the growing puddle of water around him. But there was something heavy pinning his torso down and trapping his legs-

 _Oh God._

Tony was draped across Peter like a broken shield. In the very last moment, his mentor must have thrown himself over Peter to fully absorb the blow himself in an attempt to protect his apprentice from the touch of the malevolent. Right now, the blacksmith was laying on the teen’s chest, his eyes closed and unmoving. Water trickled down his slacken face and splashed the ground with red.

The horrid smell of something burnt and the absolute wrongness of how still Tony was petrified the teen to his core. Desperate now, Peter tried to push the crushing weight of his mentor off and start to figure out where he was hurt and why _wasn’t he moving!_

Shaking his limp shoulders and with new tears welling up in his eyes, Peter implored helplessly, not knowing what else to do. 

“M-Mr Stark? Oh my God. W-Wake up!”

 _Please. Oh God, I just got you back. I led you out here. It’s my fault! Please please please don’t be d-_

Someone out there must have listened to his desperate pleas because there was a hacking cough and a ragged drawing of air into weakened lungs as Peter felt his mentor shift, slowly regaining consciousness.

Bleary honey-brown eyes flickered open, landing unfocused on him and it was as if the weight of the world had been removed from his shoulders because Peter couldn’t help the cry of sheer relief that left his throat. Wincing from the affronted noise that was right next to his head, Tony pushed himself shakily off the teen before lifting a trembling hand to clear his streaming vision in a rush of temporary confusion. 

“A-Are you o-okay? Pete Wha-” 

“My my, what do we have here? Two little humans lost in the forest?” A foreign, scaly voice interrupted, ringing out obnoxiously into the clearing like a proud proclamation of the gospel. Instinctively, the pair swung back only to both freeze in absolute trepidation. 

Fuck the scale of trauma. It was not even on the leaderboard. Because _right before his very eyes was a scene that could only be imagined from the worst of Peter’s nightmares._

With faces devoid of emotion, eyes blank as night and bristling with sparks of dark magic, stood three Sorcerers in the flesh.

Judging from the hot, welcome gift that they had just received and by the looks of the twin obsidian knives that two of them had just conjured out of thin air, Peter did not have to be a Tracker to know that _they were not fucking friendly._

But it was the third Sorcerer who remained weaponless and unmoving that frightened Peter the most. His face was thin and gaunt, twisted horribly and inhumanly out of shape. As he stood with his hands behind his back, almost in a comical resting attention, Peter felt true and real terror burn in his veins as pale eyes looked him over and a needle-sharp grotesque smirk followed.

“Did they just sent the two of you to come flush us out?” An incredulous huff left the leading Sorcerer as he narrowed his beady eyes in disdain, barely sparing Peter another glance.

“Pathetic. Mankind has truly fallen further than I thought…”

A shiver ran its full course down Peter’s spine. Forcing his frozen brain into action, the teen wracked his mind for anything to use against the epitome of death ten feet from them before realizing in horror that he was coming up empty.

He was trained to be a blacksmith. Not a fighter or a bloody Tracker! No one had thought of giving Peter basic hand-to-hand skills to defend himself, even less to fight against a freaking Sorcerer. 

Because then again, blacksmiths weren’t even supposed to leave the towns they were appointed to. 

Gazing fearfully back at his mentor, Peter tried to figure out what their next cause of action would be in getting out of this alive. Tony had to have a plan. He always did.

But the blacksmith had fallen back on his hands and knees and was rubbing weakly at his chest. There was a painful grimace etched on his face, almost like he was battling something invisible to the eye. Anxiety seized him and Peter could only watch helplessly as his mentor seemingly struggled to breathe.

Tony tugged fruitlessly on the helm of his now scorched tunic, exposing pale skin and allowing rainwater to cascade down against his scarred chest. There was a glint of silver and perhaps it was a trick of the light because Peter swore he saw his mentor’s talisman _glowing?_

More footsteps filled the clearing causing the teen to swivel his head forward once more. Peter’s heart sank to the depths of his stomach as two more Sorcerers slipped out from the inky shadows, their eyes hollow and dark like their companions.

Tainted mandalas, almost a cruel mockery of the tendrils of comforting green and gold, materialized onto the palms of the enemy as they shifted into formation. Robotically, the four magic-users flanked the sides of the leader and formed a tight semi-circle, shifting slowly and menacingly around the pair of humans. But the lead Sorcerer still made no move to arm himself. Instead, he tilted his head to the side, inhuman eyes fixated on the downed blacksmith with such intensity that it made Peter’s soul clench with helpless urgency. 

Trapped between the churning waters of the ravine and the malevolent beings bristling with magic, Peter knew there was really no one coming to save them this time. 

_No, Stephen would come. Their Sorcerer will come. He had to._

Peter had to buy time for them both. 

Against better judgement and with the odds truly against him, Peter got up on coltish legs and planted himself bravely in front of his mentor, standing in between the best and the worst of what the world had to offer. Despite being soaked to the bone, Peter’s throat was paper-dry as he could do nothing else but stare into the blank eyes of the very monster that haunted the dreams of Man for decades with only the whispers of fate in his soul: _The only language they know is of violence and death-_

“Alas, as I told your blond leader.” The scaly voice of his impending nightmares spoke out against the roar of nature, slicing Peter away from his thoughts.

“We are truly not here for your kind today.”

And Romanoff’s ominous report came reeling back as a vivid flashback causing a fresh new wave of dread to settle in the teen’s gut and threatened to wash Peter away in the currents of time.

_“Their intentions, although purely diabolical, however, did not seem to be triggered by our arrival. They were as surprised to see us as we were to them.”_

_“It was almost like they were actively searching for someone and we just happened to stumble upon them and were merely in their way.”_

Realization hit him like a strike to his face. Staggering backwards, the teen shifted as far as he could from the enemy till his aching back was leaning against the solid form of his mentor behind.

_It indeed was a trap. But not for Man. These Sorcerers weren’t here to attack them._

_They were here for Stephen._

“But then again, twice is indeed the charm.”

The crash of thunder echoed around the clearing as the enemy inched their way closer.

“The Titian will reward me greatly when I bring back news that I have eradicated not one but three of our enemies today.” 

A single bolt of lightning that flashed across the crying skies illuminated the outlines of the advancing Sorcerers and the hair-raising feeling of untamed magic clung to the teen’s clammy skin, freezing his thoughts and trapping all movement.

“I’ve heard it said that Man only gain wisdom through suffering.” The chilling words purred with malice, voice promising nothing but torment as Peter’s petrified gaze was reflected against the clear gleaming needle-like blade that was brandished outwards, dark and pulsing with inky power.

“Well today, I intend to make you both _very wise.”_

* * *

Miles away taking refuge from the harsh elements, the Timekeeper was jolted violently from deep meditation as his soul screamed with the burning of a phantom pain that was not his. 

In a flash, the Sorcerer sprang to his feet with urgency he had never felt before, mentally visualizing the scene he was to portal to immediately. Because the whispers of his magic nestled deep in his soul was never wrong: It was an ominous warning and an unmistakable message _that time was running out._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arc 2 Complete. 
> 
> And with that, this marks the end of this round's merciless emotional rollercoaster. ~~And if you thought this was bad… Well.~~
> 
> The epic battle between Man and Magic would commence soon as anticipated. Do drop me a review if time persist and as always, thanks for reading! :)
> 
> Also to my American and Canadian readers: Happy Thanksgiving! 🦃


	13. **NOTES & TRIVIA**

I'm not sure about you but between the last time I updated (which was last Thanksgiving) up till now, with the world currently on fire, it feels like decades has passed.

Between my A03 account being suspended for a significant amount of time because of a wrongful error, the Coronavirus wrecking havoc in my country, deaths in my community because of said virus, family and College classes being problematic because of it all, I lost my muse somewhere down the chaotic road of 2020.

I had plans to give this story up for adoption but after rewatching the HTTYD trilogy again in the weekend (vainly trying to destress from reality), I realized the potential of where this story might all lead to. Also I didn’t expect myself to let everything all go to shit so quickly as I re-read my own fic; and reading the comments seriously got me interested in twisting the story a little to my favor. So to avoid heartache and depression, I thought that I should start planning and organizing what I want to write next. I will start posting once I have fully written the entirety of Arc 3 out as a whole.

So I am finally back! I’m sincerely surprised that there are still people reviewing and commenting while in my absence. Thank you for your patience and support! I hope you and your families are hanging in there, staying hopeful and safe, as this awful pandemic rips through the world. 

I also realized that I left ya’ll on such an awful cliffy for 4 months. Sorry about that! But hey I’m not going anywhere now! (Also because we’re all being quarantined anyway).

**So while you wait for Arc 3; Here are some useless trivia and references I've used so far in "Of Man and Magic".**

-This story was inspired from _DreamWorks' How to Train Your Dragon_ trilogy and _Disney's Pocahontas._

-The town of Genevra is an anagram of ‘Avenger’.

-The Keepers and individual Abilities are based on the powers of the different Infinity Stones respectively (Duhh xD).

-The other mentioned town of Jocasta is an unused AI that was seen on Tony’s workbench in _Avengers: Age of Ultron._

-The cavern/cave used as a meeting place between Tony, Stephen and Peter is a tribute to _Ironman_ where Tony Stark was held captive in a cave in Afghanistan for 3 months.

-Stephen leaping off the cliff and falling into the ravine to escape from Tony in Chapter 2 was a reference to the _BBC Sherlock_ TV Series’ episode: _The Reichenbach Fall._

-In Chapter 5, Maw announced to Thanos that “The Humans grow stronger. They stand firm. They are unruly, and therefore cannot be ruled. To challenge them so soon again is to court... Death.” This was taken from _Marvel: The Avengers_ when The Other was telling Thanos of Loki’s failure.

-In Chapter 6, Wanda told Stephen that “Someone once told me that our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict… Conflict breeds catastrophe.” This is an indirect reference to what Vision offered to Wanda in _Captain America: Civil War._

_-_ In Chapter 9, Stephen was showing off his power to Tony by manipulating time on a Sunflower's growth; this was a reference to his movie counterpart in _Doctor Strange_ when he was using the Eye of Agamotto on an Apple in the Sanctum's library. 

-In Chapter 10, Tony told Stephen “If you could make God bleed, people would cease to believe in Him.“ Afterwards Steve told Tony that “There will be blood in the water and the sharks will come. All we have to do is sit back and watch as the power of humanity consumes them.” This is a slightly altered quote from Ivan Vanko in _Ironman 2._

-Additionally, when Alexander Pierce interrupted Bruce Banner he said: “You don’t win war with niceness, Doctor. You win wars with guts” which is also another direct reference from _Captain America: The First Avenger_ when the General was talking to Doctor Erskine.

-In Chapter 11, Peter yelled at Tony saying “Why can’t anybody just listen to me!” “I just wanted to be like you" with the latter replying “I did fucking listen, kid!” "And I wanted you to be better”. This was inspired by the pair’s famous confrontation on the rooftop in _Spiderman: Homecoming._

I might have missed a few but these were just some major ones that I used!

I welcome theories of who the Soul Keeper might be with open arms and I welcome conducive criticism and happy reviews as well! Also, if there's anything you might want to see in the upcoming chapters, do leave it in the comments! Knowing me, I'll try to incorporate it all xD

With that, to the readers who have been with me since Chapter 1 and to the newest reader who had just binged up to this point, thank you all for reading and supporting this brainchild of mine. I’ll see you guys soon in Arc 3, I promise! 

Stay in the light! 

  
-Lotte <3


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